All you insipid old men
Who harvest the young
With your business deals
And malicious wars
Exploiting their native bravery
And naive thirst for glory
Don't think we don't remember you
Strolling among their pretty graves
Because you too were once young
With the same zest to make a mark
While older men in secret circles
Were plotting how to take you in
Arranging their barbwire fences
But how did it all begin
No comments:
Post a Comment