“This will be the end of war” they cried;
too many souls have this time died.
But still they strut and postulate;
those dogs of war, those dogs of hate.
When fields of green are bathed in blood
their pretty words come in a flood
but in the end we always know
it is the sword; the way they know.
They simply don’t know how to be
a loving person, proud and free.
When will they learn that we must go
into the stream; compassions flow.
The only place where we can live;
that place where victory’s to forgive.