It seems, as though, we live in a time so grim
- an' I believe the world'll need a few more spins
- 'round the sun before it'll, ever again, be fun
- for our daughters & sons ta', in the garden, run.
Once the war's done - an' lowered've been the guns:
- maybe then, we'll see the tiny crumbs of buns
- that the mothers had baked for the boys who'd won.
But - the men at war with their heads felt none,
- in terms of peace, an'-  nor did their sons;
- they are the children of a massive war
- an' don't understand what all o' the death was for.