They sent us off to fight a war
ill prepared to complete the chore,
the endless nights of burning heat
sand gritted eyes and hurting feet,
with a lack of food and water too,
but depose this man, see it through.
There's blood running in the streets,
trucks rumbling past in endless fleets
limbs lay shattered in the golden sands,
white flags waving, pleading in dirty hands,
grubby hungry children, grown to despairing men,
comrades lost in battle and never seen again.
Remember then, you, who would wage war,
that you will never tend the open sore
of loss and pain, never to be healed,
bitterness and sorrow thus congealed.
Is this what they sent us for,
to fight this bloody, pointless war.
Your religion and truth, they matter not.
It really doesn't count for just one jot
when to satisfy your vengeful mind
you wrought destruction on mankind,
the truth, I fear, can never be denied,
somewhere, some-ones child just died.