We Pray Peace,
And Act War.
Beat our swords into plowshares?
Ah, but the world has closed to old ideas.

Lay down your arms soldier,
For who are you fighting for?
And for what?
And why?

The Tournament Of World Power
Is now into overtime.
And the players tire.

But the coaches move us,
With the pep of a teenager's drive and intellect,
Oblivious.

The blissful oblivion of conscience undone.