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

Ricocheting bullets bouncing through the napalm the duel enchanted. The day loss cost us passage back to the base. Its hidden by the thick bush of enemy lines and gunpowder burials. I wear the day on my boots now a canvas for the lands clay. Each step I take breaks the bones of fallen men below. Looking around the grim mass I see a dead mans gun stand erect, risen like a weed who nourishes on the blood of its fallen master. Hell pass in the end as a pawn, an addition to the poisoned total, a reminder that we all die as men.