Why would we stay?
It was time to go, the generals said, the situation was untenable. Shot to hell, that was the grunts, no point staying to get shot up more.
Not worth getting shot over scratches in the dirt.
Of course we had a reason, for being here that is. The locals, they said we had one still. If we left now, what was the point of having been shot up in the first place?
Time to go, that was the militia, time to leave and let the locals sort out local problems.
Time to go, said the politicians; time to leave now that the media was focussed on hollywood again.
But what about us? said the rest, those scratches in the dirt; the ones we came for in the first place.
The machete is no way to die.
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