Remote Control

To the man who starts a war
From the comfort of his vacation home
Killing has never been so convenient
As playing with your little drones
Never having to see the looks upon their faces
Or see the pain behind their eyes
As you bomb them in their birthplaces
Deaf to their desperate cries
Blind to the atrocities of war
Of the millions dying on the floor
Their children crying at our door
Such unimaginable gore
The smell of burning flesh
Is something you'll never have to smell
Sending soldiers to clean up the mess
As you hide inside your shell
Barking orders like an angry bird
Tweeting at the top of your lungs
Demanding to be heard
Yet not a word of truth is sung
I stare in disbelief
At our so-called commander in chief
It would bring such great relief
Just to see a little grief