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Saving Throw
Current mood:
calm
A gunner in a shack did rest, watching soldiers below, America’s best.
This yellow man who’s hands are red, pulled the trigger, ambushing men with a belt-fed.
All are pinned, a storm of led above their head. Making the wrong move ensured you were dead.
A man with a grenade weighs out his lot. Tired of long war he’s had is last thought.
Mind made up figuring someone had to go. He ran out from cover to save the men he’d known.
The bullets crack and whiz, ripping through him head to toe. Shaking hands with death to make a saving throw.
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