Among the still wet bloodied bones, the wild dogs pick their way. Chewing at various body parts, they say dogs have their day. And though we feel revulsion at such raw canine behaviour, no one halts the tide of death, in war there is no Saviour.

Many voices raised in shock at photographs like this, while sitting in our nice warm homes, these things give us a miss. Elect the voice of reason and still he goes to war, ‘cause money’s made in killing and politics is a whore.

And so more factories are built and rise up to the sky, they’re making newer weapons, finding different ways to die. Yet people have to have jobs so work amongst this gloom. They never stop to think that, they’re the authors of their own doom.

©Joe Wilson – The bullets that put us all to bed…2016