We condemn it and hate it more and more – yet we often must fight or die;
There’s a primitive face of the human race that explains the reason why;
Though we strive to speak our resolve is weak, so we side with the powers that be,
And despite the signs we move with the times – and we fight for victory.

It is always the same in the sad war game: the little man takes the rap;
The war lords rule, but like a fool it is he who must fill the gap.
The powers all know how the cyclones blow that they loose from their cloud of death,
The resolve is strong that carries us on – and we listen with bated breath.

We wait for a word till the shot is heard that tells that the fight is on;
But we always wait till it’s far too late – and the hope for Peace has gone.

Some find acclaim and we cherish their name – those of the fortunate few
Who act when action is called for, cheered on by a watching crew;
But there’s many an act recorded, whilst many remain untold,
And some are always remembered, though the history itself grows old.

The ravage of War with its blood and gore, its fire and bursting shell
Fills the air with its mad despair in the throes of a living hell;
But not till the foe meets the final blow, or turns on his heel and runs,
Shall the Voice of Peace bring sweet release to those behind the guns.