The rain is soaking to my shoulders
Falling soft upon the leaves,
Falling on these silent soldiers
Who hide beneath the forest eaves.
I can see it in their faces
All the strain and all the fear,
Months of war has etched their traces
On the boys who huddle here.
Our leaders order us as cattle
And beat our plowshares into swords,
Thus we gird our young for battle
And fill their minds with empty words.
Not for those who give the orders
Any place in this charade,
Safe behind their chartered borders
Not for them the grim parade.
Knuckles whitening, faces paling
Hope that withers with the dark
Hands that falter, courage failing
Waiting for the cannon's bark.
For yesterday I sent their brothers
Scrambling up this hill to die,
The day before that, were the others.
Who yet on the meadow lie.
I watched them as the battle closes
Amidst the carnage and the din,
Seen their wounds like deadly roses
Blooming crimson on their skin.
I've heard them coughing as they stumble
I've heard their moaning as they lie,
Heard frightened prayer turn to mumbles,
And final silence as they die.
The dead lie in their awkward slumber,
Having answered glory's call.
Lying scattered beyond number
Piled like cordwood by the wall.
And as for me I'm sick of sending
These frightened boys to butchery,
I swear that when this day is over,
There'll be one bullet left for me.