Body count: 1

this paper is killing me so I'm gonna take a break:

When I was young I made 50 million records. I am the youngest superstar you have ever known. I created a frenzy of make belief lovers that always had it out for me. Those crazies wanted a piece of me, literally. I lost my arm in the War on Love even though congress never declared it official. I deployed 50 million to march in my name...in the name of Love. You too, U2, me too? Me as well.
Old news; I then lost my leg in the War on Love 2. Then I Killed Myself When I was Young. I needed a.a. bandage, A.A. Bondy, a.a. body bag? hmm.
Now it's quiet and I just hear the whistle of the wind in my old war zone. I am now the prodigal son of a prodigal son. An anomaly in the family that loved the Army. I fear in the near future my blood will enter that war opposed to my own...and that war zone hears no whistle of empty but the cries of the dying and the innocent fleeing. As innocents intercept bullets meant for ideology I think of my father who said, "they only seek peace for their family". Oh my, oh my, oh my...is that not our boys desire?
So come over to my side brother of the desert and join the 50 million march toward to the War on Love and let us find an empty battlefield. My hope, my dream. Body count: 1.