We took the blood of [insert country of] innocents
And painted their lives on our doors
Then we went inside with our children and our families
And celebrated the gods of war
But some among us
Caring and compassionate
Asked our leaders “Why?” and “What for?”
But their lovers and mothers
Children and brothers
Said “Please! No questions! We implore.”
Then they motioned towards the platings and seats
In a hall stinking of gore
Where seated at each table
Was the spirit of one able
But with their eyes glued to the floor
Someone who duty bound
Instead now found themselves
Selling souls for a score
‘Cos what’s an afternoon high tea
Without a killing spree
And paid-for-cargo being shipped out for war?