The old men who orders you to fight and die.

The old men who are filled with hate and greed.

The old men.

They sit far away from the battlefield.

They would never put themselves in danger.

They think themselves far too important for that.

But you are not important.

Not in their mind.

You are expendable.

A means to their goal.

Not a human being at all.

Not to them.

A pawn on the chessboard.

Their chessboard.

Not yours.

These men are ambitious cowards.

And it is with hesitation I call them men.

You all know them. We call them leaders.

Perhaps we shouldn't call them that.

Perhaps the fault is ours.