War I have no time for war and its cold heated play, For the blood on his hands at the end of the day, Why should the innocence of man have to wipe his slate clean, When he kills us like resting mocking birds under a tree. I have no pity for war, Not now and not then, War he deserves no sympathy, From the ghosts that haunt his pending head. He isn't fit to eat at ones table, Or to rest on ones bed, Let war shrivel up with hunger and die on stone instead. Although it's a sin war stands the testament of time, Cursing man one by one, Its hunger nether quench alas it never runs dry. The plague that we call war he cant be detested by I.
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