If in your imagination you could fly
Across that country and see the bodies lying
Twisted by the road and hear the cry
Of those children whose blood is testifying
To the uncaring cruelty of war,
And hear the weeping of those broken men
Who say with millions gone, “No more, no more
Must civilization commit this sin again,”

My friend, you would not tell us with such glee
That we had gone to war to destroy a land
That for all its faults, and boasts, could never be
A threat to us no matter how it planned,
Or try to claim that with all that blood and gore
You kept creating without pause or cease
That you were forced to start this awful war
Across the Middle East to bring it peace.