The rain is soaking to my shoulders Falling soft upon the leaves, Falling on these silent soldiers Who hide beneath the forest eaves. I can see it in their faces All the strain and all the fear, Months of war has etched their traces On the boys who huddle here. Our leaders order us as cattle And beat our plowshares into swords, Thus we gird our young for battle And fill their minds with empty words. Not for those who give the orders Any place in this charade, Safe behind their chartered borders Not for them the grim parade. Knuckles whitening, faces paling Hope that withers with the dark Hands that falter, courage failing Waiting for the cannon's bark. For yesterday I sent their brothers Scrambling up this hill to die, The day before that, were the others. Who yet on the meadow lie. I watched them as the battle closes Amidst the carnage and the din, Seen their wounds like deadly roses Blooming crimson on their skin. I've heard them coughing as they stumble I've heard their moaning as they lie, Heard frightened prayer turn to mumbles, And final silence as they die. The dead lie in their awkward slumber, Having answered glory's call. Lying scattered beyond number Piled like cordwood by the wall. And as for me I'm sick of sending These frightened boys to butchery, I swear that when this day is over, There'll be one bullet left for me.