The Space Peas

I march my army down the hill,
Their feet move on, their hearts are still.
The taste of peas still in my mouth
Is rancid, still it quenched a drought
But chills, alack , seep down my spine
As there before us, in a line
Too perfect,
Too manic straight,
Too shiny yet to contemplate,
Their ship has landed
They are stranded
Space peas coming, clanking, rolling
Silver smiles and silver soulling,
Come to our godforsaken planet,
To battle with the pomegranate.