Their politics the poor mans pride, for the wealthy privilege! It’s on their side.
This land of divide their world is gilded, the poor pushed aside like a third world village
When you hear the roar in wars thunder, the rich will gather to count the plunder.
Our triumph? But do you ever wonder why is it that only the poor go under.
Nothing could be worse for war is perverse, the rich and their thirst to fill their purse.
Men engage in explosive repulsive zee, hellish brutish blood bath death! Onto thee.
Vile and grotesque it’s wars callous carnage but the rich must keep the poor in bondage.
The call to arms you fight to be free, broken dead bodies now littering the land and sea.
Grieving bursts forth no healing for this suffering, death of a child a father left wondering.
Corruption from this greed while poor men bleed, their unwillingness to concede! it’s death we feed.