What will we do with the dogs of war
when all our enemies are dead?
For they’ve been bred to kill and not
much else.
There will be no turning them back once
they’ve tasted blood.
They were pups once, gamboling along on
big paws with great floppy ears
But we raised them on a diet of hate
Gnawing the bones of the dead and the
bitter water of tears.
What will we do with the dogs of war
when we have made the peace of our dreams?
For they will have nothing left to hunt
and kill.
We could send them out to mind the sheep
at night but we know how that might end.
