Every field I see is like a sea of carnage
Roses tarnished by the wounds of armies
Scars to haunt me, and no grace upon me
On the front lawn of the dawns rising, where the pawns lead
The king and queen lean on pristine buildings
Gilding of castles to glisten above the killings
Of the willing, I know none to love the feeling
Stealing sons souls, sold coldly, see the bidding
Billions, while the children are malnourished and illiterate
Syndicate soldiers we'd be if the price fitted it
Politic lie rhyme and limmerick, I get it (the gimmick)
If its broke, give it names till its too much to fix it
Wounds and scars mean little, and much, to the serving
Deserving of praise, but we're all soldiers burning
Bridges nations and fathers built, its unnerving
Whatever we bought with that money, its not working.
