War zone

I live with poor people
who have nothing to say:
my guns are hidden in their rooms
underneath their beds

I set traps for visitors
and burrow beneath 
fragile buildings

I am innocent:
I want nothing but river and sea,
and death of course: that’s only natural

I attack from the mists
because that is what I do, 
and when my enemies respond,

my friends die
which is their fault, 
as everyone agrees:

one day I will kill them all, 
and that will be their fault too