I hear piercing screams from the burning village.
From scared women, adults and underage.
Oh! The terror of this pillage!

I am standing behind the muzzle of a smoking gun,
And I can’t stop firing, “Bam! Bam!”

Later that night as I enjoy Vodka in the company of foe and friend,
As I enjoy loot from the dead.
A friend with eyes so red,
From continuing hostility with a bed,
Occupies the chair adjacent to me and says, “Old friend,
How do you think this story will end?”

I say, “Pal, this ends with me dead,
But when that day finally dawns, many with me, to hell will I send.”

With pity he says, “Fool, dead is dead,
Whether it is by surprise
Like John Dillinger or Bonnie and Clyde,
Or swinging like Butch Cassidy
And the Sundance Kid.”

I find my gang waiting,
Ready to do the next robbing.
I tell them I am done thieving,
I am done with this living,
I am leaving.

They say, “Pal, you ain’t done.
Don’t you know we are a clan?”

Next thing I know I am laying on the dirt bleeding,
“Bang! Bang!” Their guns keep going,
And in my head my friend is saying,
“The thing that’s most hurting,
Are your people seeing the pharaoh coming,
And angrily crying,
Moses, why did you yank us away from the Egyptian King?”

This poem is about: 
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


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