Wounds of battle, Scars of war

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.