Maybe it's true now
Like it was true way back then,
You'll never quite meet the president
And you'll end up back home again.
Sometimes in the distance,
You can hear the horsemen ride.
Maybe we could fight to our death,
Maybe we could run and hide.

So send your sons on to the battlefield
Send your daughters to a rich man's bed,
At least it won't be empty, the sword they weild
And we all fall down.

Don't you like to remember the good ol' days ,
When the sun burned in the sky?
When your girls liked to live by their husband's hand,
And the good boys went off to die?
Oh you may not meet your maker ,
'Cause he's left his home in the sky,
So I guess it's just the few of us
Meant to live, pay in, and die.

So send your little boys to the battlefields
Send your daughters to a rich man's bed
Go ahead, let us pay for you,
And we all fall down.