| Hostilities ended, nobody cared
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| Anymore for the war, so a truce was declared
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| So it ends in surrender, then there’s peace at least
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| Arms are withdrawn and fire is ceased
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| To stay in a skirmish one needs appetite
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| Two need desire to keep up a fight
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| But when appetite’s off and desire is gone
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| Then the fire is held and arms are withdrawn
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| When losses and wounds are grievous and gory
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| When the battle is pitched, in the field there is glory
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| When hearts just aren’t in it, retreat leads to rout
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| And arms are laid down and the fire goes out
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| We remember the ones who run out of dumb luck
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| Monuments are erected and statues are struck
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| But we tend to forget if and when we forgive
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| And the survivors survive but they never quite live
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| As for our own war, yes, I recall it well
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| Just what it was like our own personal hell
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| I’ve forgotten the good times, heaven’s so vague
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| But I remember the battles
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| Oh, how they raged!
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| When losses and wounds are grievous and gory
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| When the battle is pitched, in the field there is glory
|
| When hearts just aren’t in it, retreat leads to rout
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| And arms are laid down and the fire goes out |