When presented with the prisoners
The general refused their pleas
Honorable deaths were not forthcoming
Cruel fates in word and deed

The general did offer up
The sharpest blade he knew
For prisoners to die by
Whilst perhaps sparing a bare few

They agreed to what he offered
Thinking it a noble thing
But then he led them to the wasteland
And the irony did sting

The wind’s blade is, the genral said,
The sharpest that I know
Without food or shelter I leave you
To feel its bitter blow

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