Where have all the flowers gone?

2,000th Death Marked by Silence and a Vow

Mr. President, how do you sleep at night? Two thousand, sickening silence for those who've died for a lie, the deadly steel still hot as the ground goes cold around them. Wartorn flags, covered with the guilty blood of a nation, drape the shoulders of those who elected you, God rest their consciences. The Earth rattles, a firestorm rages through the desert sky, and mortality reigns over fragile young bodies, all like some morbid game with no discernable consequences to you. But you are dead wrong; there are grave consequences. You are not God. Life is not your toy, Mr. President. Life is not something you can replace when you break it.