Leaves which fall upon blood-soaked soil

When the Devil looks upon our fields with tearful eyes,
We know there's something wrong.
Disinterest, the key to peaceful relations,
And nothing else to echo but the blissful birdsong.

We cleave our way through generational collapse.
Young troops, sent to die and thrown in a heap,
And although time, it may still lapse,
Nothing can fill the hole left by a good man.

Our fates are predetermined, like for
Leaves which fall upon blood-soaked soil.
They do not wish to be there,
But get tangled in webs of toil.

War is to peace as logic is to humanity,
We eject our kin to perish, yet govern over Animalia,
As stil don't question our morality.
Years of conflict, son many wasted lives, we do not learn.

All this time to make strides towards goodness,
Synonyms of 'Man' should be chaos, destruction, death.
Nature screams to ignorant ears, and
We still focus on our final breath.

We'll never understand the gravity of our mistakes.
In a world full of riddlers, liars, idiots and fakes.