I saw the men and women trudging, marching,

Poppies pinned to their coats,

Protests for peace rended by police hordes disheartening,

Who'd still glorify all those, 

Give to such, what is it we suppose,

Keeps us battle locked? Hear the drums starting,

A frenzied beat and a gunshot sound so close.

Is parting from conflict such sweet sorrow

 

The triumphant regimental music,

Sounds as the bullet meets bone,

The air is strange and thick,

With rationalities the rational can't condone,

Between strikes the blood filled mouths give way to foam,

While to old stories the States still stick,

And we with them, the campaign shock is shown,

Is parting from conflict such sweet sorrow?

 

I wound a web around all

Opposing parallels, equally absurd,

Reasons rusted vestige shown to fall,

And notions extracted from ancient words

Show what hear before's been heard

Twisted logic answers insanity's pleaing call,

Fortunes ferociously flood the minds of the disturbed, 

For centuries now, we've known, it's that in which we erred

 

See the clandestine officers,

Heavily hailed with salutes,

Well, on their kind, a curse,

For watching their dead and dying troops,

Deciding who to promote or jail or shoot,

Medals for those whose hands are blood-stained worst,

Their visage of villainy now in deserved disrepute

 

The predatory Prime Minister is preying on the poor, 

His greed given, their wages arrive too slow,

Cleaner's at Downing Street, sweeping bones from off his floor, 

 I ask now 'Just how far can his sick career go?

As his twisted mind goes to and fro,

So far removed from all, behind the number 10 door,

With archaic ideologies. and such a coldness in his tone,

For him, parting from confict really is such sweet sorrow.'