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This year, we strain to hear the silver bells
Over dark waves of misfortune whipped into frenzy by the Martian winds
With wave after wave of passions seeking martyred eternal dates, How does one find peace?
Maybe, you search not in Macy's, Target, Wal-Mart or Neiman Marcus
Or the nooks and crannies of each shopping mall or e-com site, But rather a snow covered field in Flanders
Where Tommy and Fritz on one cold December day
Left the security of a trench
To use their fingers to shake hands,
Not to pull triggers,
To use their voices, not to bark commands,
But to sing softly ...