Say Son

I’ve got billions for Iraq if you wanna.
And I’ve got billions for Iraq if you don’t wanna.
And I’ve got a master plan for Afghanistan,
Pakistan, Iraq, Iran
and all them little stans.
And there’s always more
More money for weapons and war,
but no money for the poor sick and sore."
A voice is heard… like the song of a bird.
Lamentation and sorrow;
come pray for tomorrow.
Mothers weep for their tots,
but they’re comforted not;
though bravely they fought
and freedom they sought
with their lives it is bought
and the bosses have naught
been shot at or caught.
Zounds the sounds rebound around
portable memorials and homemade parades.
Repeating mistakes 20, 30, 50
a hundred years late,
let them eat cake…
…and all their ists and isms.
So don’t call me: fascist
So don’t call me: terrorist
So don’t call me: socialist
So don’t call me: communist
So don’t call me: environmentalist
So don’t call me: existentialist
So don’t call me: surrealist
So don’t call me: dadaist
So don’t call me: sunkist
Just don’t call me:
'cause I won’t go;
I say no!
No More War.
You aren’t saving us with your little war.
You aren’t saving them with your little war.
You aren’t saving the whole wide world
with your wide-spread war.
So Saviour,
Saviours come; Saviours go.
Saviours hope; Saviours die.
Saviours love and are crucified.
So Saviour… save… your… self
So Saviour… save… your… self
So Saviour… save… your… elf!