Fools blather about the glory of the fight And don’t hear the mothers crying at night. The wives of those marauders on the roam Cry because their husbands can’t come home. The children of these battle-addicted men Go away, eyes ashine, never to return again. And still the moneyed few, urge on toward Yet those godlings never pick up a sword.
Mandates from government palaces abound But not as many as the dead on the ground. People are expendable to the military, There are no pensions in the cemetery. It’s all about honor they tell the press. Leaving someone else to clean the mess.
Fight for liberty and freedom, they say. They really mean die for them every day. It’s all about profit and always was. It’s that and no more noble cause When a nation not being attacked Falsely claims they’re striking back. Then goes on to leave thousands dead So they can wear a crown upon their head.
If you see no words of shame in this Then you have found what is amiss. These people are not motivated by grace. They have the look of evil upon their face. They already own most of what is here But they keep a running tally all year. As too much is not enough they crave, Even if that puts us all in our grave.
They marched off with no idea of the forthcoming horrors For thousands and thousands there would be no tomorrows They were summoned, no choice, they just had to go The fodder that falls when the big weapons bellow.
Men who yesterday were working out on the farm Sent to **** other men who’d done them no harm Young men who’d answered the clarion call Went to The Somme, to die, and to fall.
The nightmare of trenches, the cries in the night The black lines through letters home to cover-up the plight The new men conscripted who died the same day Who fell from the bullets before their first pay.
The young soldier killed at the point of a knife The sad telegram to his new pregnant wife The horror for one man as he killed another Standing next to a stranger he now calls a brother.
The smell of the cordite that lingers everywhere Accompanies the stench in this deathly nightmare The noise that so deafens, that damages ears Fearing cowardice charges young men hide their fears.
Men started this obscenity in quiet comfortable rooms They don’t do the dying nor end up in war tombs They’ll take all the glory any victories afford That belongs to those buried beneath foreign green sward.