They sounded the call, the banners waved, The cannons roared, the ground was paved With blood of men who had no choice, While others bought their way with coin and voice.
The wealthy sat in gilded halls, Safe behind their mansion walls, They paid their fee, their pockets deep, And sent the poor their debt to keep.
A farmer’s son, a blacksmith’s hand, Were marched to die in no man’s land, For causes they did not decide, Yet bled and broke, yet fought and died.
The city man with silken coat, Signed a check, escaped the boat, No battle cries, no muddy trench, No shattered bones, no blood-soaked stench.
But war does not just take the low, Its fire burns both friend and foe, And those who buy their peace today, May find their sons must one day pay.
A rich man’s war, a poor man’s fight, The story echoes through the night, For every war, in time’s cruel hand, Still claims the toil of common man.
