passaleth: I'm sick of it : "Let the battles of men Be vanquished and settled Warmongers relenquish your murderous fettle Let every mother Clutch her son to her bosom D..."

Let the battles of men Be vanquished and settled Warmongers relenquish your murderous fettle Let every mother Clutch her son to her bosom Disband all of the armies That lead them to harm OH for a world at peace with itself Out on the battlefields silence will fall No need for our children To rise up to the call Our brothers and neighbours Conversant and friendly Political Musclemen With biceps unflexed We can love all of our enemies If no enemies exist The extinction of vocabularies Fighting desists What price would we pay Apart from false pride Why would we have need To scurry and hide When the sirens are wailing with death by our side Peace is apparently out of our reach But its nice to imagine that One day it will come Staying with us always As will our sons