There’s nothing good about a choice of war
It’s not about right or wrong
The losers are always the young and poor
No matter which side they are on.

The old men harvest all the lives they can
And line their pockets
With the terrible price of war.

Vibrant cities are crushed and torn
Like the mist, fertile lands disappear.

Generations are lost or never born
A loss that echoes for years
All to feed the ego and greed
Of those who history will soon despise.

The old men harvest all the lives they can
And silence each dissenting voice
They’re never clear how it all began
Or the terrible price we pay for a war of choice.

War of choice
War of choice.