| Silently to silence fall in the fields of futile war
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| Toys of death are spitting lead where boys that were our soldiers bled
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| War horse and war machine curse the name of liberty
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| Marching on as if they should mix in the dirt our brothers' blood
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| In the mud and rain, what are we fighting for
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| Is it worth the pain, it is worth dying for
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| Who will take the blame, why did they make a war
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| Questions that come again, should we be fighting at all
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| Once a ploughman hitched his team, here he sowed his little dream
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| Now bodies arms and legs are strewn, where mustard gas and barb wire bloom
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| Each moment’s like a year, I’ve nothing left inside for tears
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| Comrades dead or dying lie, I’m left alone asking why
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| In the mud and rain, what are we fighting for
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| Is it worth the pain, it is worth dying for
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| Who will take the blame, why did they make a war
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| Questions that come again, should we be fighting at all
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| After the war, left feeling no one has won
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| After the war, what does a soldier become
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| After the war, left feeling no one has won
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| After the war, what does a soldier become
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| What is at home when the battles are done
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| After the war and when no one has won
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| I’m just a soldier |