Ammo In Arms: Revision Three You come to ammo in arms like leaves on vines.

the ricochet bullets commanding the duel enchanted. The day loss cost us a lit passage back to the base. I wear he day on my boots who have become a canvas for the lands clay painting. The days lost cost us missed veins of determined men. Each step I take breaks the bones of fellow men. Looking around the grim mass, I see a gun rise like a weed from the ground. Below, hell pass the end a pawn, an addition to the total, a reminder that we all die as men.