The war is here, the war is there;

seems the wars are everywhere.

Appears that war’s their one true art;

when one war ends the next will start.

They paint their artwork, fire and blood

all trod deep into Gaia’s mud.

They’re not fighters – not ‘common man’;

to fight and die is not their plan.

They are the ones rule from above;

they march us forth for ‘countries love’.

With patriotic fervor high

we march for them until we die.

No question in our hearts so strong

that we don’t stand where we belong.

Blood and money, money and blood;

their bullets hit with a deadly thud.

They drive their wars; blood for cash,

they drive us forth beneath their lash.

For generations now untold

they drive – their lust for gold.

The gold filling their coffers now’s

mixed with our blood; sacrificial cows.

But still we follow, cap in hand

with dreams of futures high and grand

until, bled dry beneath their knife

we loose our hold on wasted life.

So generations live and die

while never even asking “WHY?”