Fit to Watch a Soul's Execution

Line them up and take your shot.
Blank, blank, blank,
And the fourth one drops.
Bits and pieces look over,
Pretend to watch their comrade bleed
And comfort themselves with the words,
“At least it wasn’t me.”

Line them up and take your aim.
Blank, blank,
And another goes up in flames.
Black, empty eyes look over,
Deny what they all seem to know,
And they shiver to recall the scream,
“What an awful way to go.”

Line them up and take your time.
One blank.
One stands, and one dies.
The last almost glances over,
But gets distracted by the sun,
And laughs inside to hear the words,
“At least it’s almost done.”

Line up and take a breath.
No blanks this time,
No reprieves, just death.
But somewhere someone listened,
And heard the final plea:
“Let the world be safe, but empty,
Because it’s rid of me.”