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Down the road there came a soldier, Seventeen, or barely older. Beneath his grimy uniform, His wounded body, tired and worn. Furrowed brow and sunken eyes, beleaguered soul, who pondered lies. That brought him here to spill his blood, Midst agony and gore and mud. His innocence lay scattered here, across the fields, where freedom dear. He'd purchased now with mortal sin, upon a politicians whim.
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