See those bloody shirts a wave,
lying us the reasons for?
Hear those shiny sabres rattle,
their deathly, hollow, call to war?
Feel the ache of frightened souls,
for whom living’s now a chore?
Taste the bitter widow’s tears
as she greets you at her door
to receive the tragic news
of husband dead on distant shore?
Smell the acrid tangy fumes
of burning corpse and scattered gore
drifting from the battle field;
is that enough or need you more?