war cry

partly standing at times
also partly waiting to fall
a final reversal comes
sounding a battle call

we've lost so many men
but have yet to lose our tin leader
after so many wars it seems
they are always the last to teeter

always sounding the battle drum
in a green field far away
from the stench and blistered bodies
rotting in the eternal noon day

and more and more and more of us
fall under the blooded dirt
fall and fall and fall while
our leaders complain of their hurt