In glory march the soldiers who
Fight for home, a land so true
Or so they're told as they pull out
To a place of trouble all about
Their leaders thrust to them tools
To make em' into deadly fools
Weapons of power no one should hold
Sit in trenches, planes, and with young ones now old
Back at home all seems right
The war is not within their sight
A pat on the back and a nominal pay
Go to those who return today
But to those still in the war
Their only wish is for no more
Many scores will die and be lost
Stupidity comes at such a high cost
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem