A poem for Bush the way I feel today

[Monkeyman]

Killers by Carl Sandburg

I am singing to you
Soft as a man with a dead child speaks
Hard as a man in handcuffs
Held where he cannot feel

Under the sun
Are sixteen million men
Chosen for shining teeth
Sharp eyes,hard legs
And running of young warm blood in their wrist

And a red juice runs on the green grass
And a red juice soaks the dark soil
And the sixteen million are killing--and killing-and killing

I never forget them day or night
They beat on my head for memory of them
They pound on my heart and I cry back to them
To their homes and women, dreams, and games

I wake in the night and smell the trenches
And hear the low stir of sleepers in lines
Sixteen million sleepers and pickets in the dark
Some of them long sleepers for always

Some of them tumbling to sleep to-morrow for aways
Fixed in drag of the world's heartbreak
Eating and drinking, toiling--on a long job of killing
Sixteen million men