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.
Does anything ever mute The sound of dying men’s screams Who volunteered to defend The righteous demands of greedy dreams? The clouds roll quietly in And who can tell if it is mist or smoke? So, this pile of dead humans; Are they enemies or a sick man’s joke?
Did they know what they were When they piled into the planes and cars? Did they have any idea why They were ordered to march and fly so far? Were they told they were fighting For one thing when it was really another? Were the coerced into uniform By neighbors, teachers, fathers and mothers?
And when smoke clears each time Do those that came after them to battle Find some still lie there dying So they can listen to the death rattle Of one more brother or sister Dying in the mud on their back From a war that was started When their nation was never attacked?
Glory and pride are words That can be used to cover over lies Like bandages over wounds. But they don’t mute the mortal cries Of those who died feeling tricked About not defending freedom But for money for the hand-picked.