The Surgeons Poem by Mark Sky

These evil surgeons
Do strive to create
For there own intention
This system for hate

What drives a young man
To believe it is best
To strap this explosive
So tight to his chest?

To run to the station
The place he's told right
Does he tremble with joy?
Or with his own fright?

Now he is here
Has worked his way in
With sweated palm
He pulls on the pin

What surgeon did sew
With his evil thread
These dreadful thoughts
So deep in his head

This young man evil?
No, I think not
He just was a puppet
The surgeon had got

With propaganda
They led him astray
Now all round the station
In pieces he lay

Robbed of his life
Along with the others
Minus the surgeon
His sisters and brothers.