As I walked down St. Bloodpool Lane ,
Waiting on the busses there or a free ride;
The weary way of war did turn me down -
    And, out I felt the cold
    Of warriors boldly dying,
    Bleeding in their blood-shot hearts
    Kneeling for the ways of Mars:
        Like thoughtless meat-machines
        These former men castrated through.

And as I sought in reason's bouquet
Finding friends and enemies, sides and false beliefs;
There's never movements in deep graves of corpses dead -
    Now they're gone - their life cut off,
    Do not run - the oven's still hot,
    Had to die - not to ask why,
    Bombing and shooting until someone won:
        And I just never let a thought release
        In there again.

And all who blamed were themselves blamed again,
The war-wish makes the borish stable life seem untamed:
Everyone is in it - everyone is trying to get out, -
    And off I went, with the sun's ascend
    In the end - everyone is dead-sent.
    No one here dared tell the price
    The boys in the graves paid to reach paradise
        A good excuse would find the changing border-line
        So there my friend.