The one large gun has sent many shells downrange
Some of them have even hit their targets
But the heat of so much firing off is
Warping the barrel
And the metal begins to scream its fatigue
While the targets grow ever further away
And it's not clear why we're shooting anyway
Because such war as there was has been won
By the combatant who always wins in the end
Because none best that final foe
However well armed they may be
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