[ music: john lombardo/lyric: john lombardo adapts wilfred owen ]



For whom the bells toll
When sentenced to die
The stuttering rifles
Will stifle the cry
The monstrous anger
The fear´s rapid rattle
A desert inferno
Kids dying like cattle

Don´t tell me
We´re not prepared
I´ve seen today´s marine
He´s eighteen and he´s eager
He can be quite mean

No mock´ries for them
No prayers or bells
The demented choirs
The wailing of shells
The boys holding candles
On untraveled roads
The fear spreads like fire
As shrapnel explodes

I think it´s wrong
To conscript our youth
Against their will
When plenty of our citizenry
Really like to kill

What sign posts will lead
To armageddon´s fires
What bugles will call them
From crowded grey shires
The women sit quiet
With death on their minds
A slow dusk descending
The drawing of blinds

Make the hunters all line up
It´s their idea of fun
And let those be forgiven
Who never owned a gun
Was it him or me
Or the wailing of the dead
The laughing soldiers
Cast their lots
And you can cut the dread