So rest young warrior 
In yon ditch or field
And know that we are grateful
For the might that you did wield.

Rest easy in your graves
For it's not you who sinned
And we will always honour you
Though you are but dust in the wind.

The suited table talkers who fail
Send our young to die
But don't include their own children
When they give war a try.

It's the unemployed and poor
who sign up for wars and adversity
While the rich kids catch a jet
To a foreign job or university.

So many generous immature souls
Come forward when the Bell is rung
When the politician's remedies fail
They pass the bile filled cup - 
To the young.