The black skin of slaves under the lash Bleeding the blood red blood. Soldiers North in marching blue, Soldiers South in riding gray, Bleed their blood red blood. The white skin of soldiers entrenched Breathing the deadly golden mustard gas, Coughing their lungs, their blood red blood, Coughing on their uniforms of blue or gold. The Cambodian Killing Fields flow bright With blood red blood spurting from under yellow skin. Only that is clear.
Blood is blood.
That, and the tears. The tears are clear. In Flanders Field, so they say, The poppies grow, red blood red. The fields of greed and fear. Waterloo and Gettysburg We can quickly find on a map.