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For whom do 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. Please fill in the fields below and click SUBMIT to send it to your friend.
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