We saw the visions
Of promised gain
So we stole the souls of men.
We made provisions
To cleanse our stain
While sped our regimen.

It is God we said
That led unsaid
Our men to victory.
But count the dead
And those who bled
Oh, God, Gethsemene.

'Tis war we love
Not Him above
And Death the masterstroke.
For with warrior glove
Our honors shove
Our youthful gentlefolk.

To fight our cause
To hide our flaws
While we in safety rest.
As power awes
Ambition gnaws
Within each emptied breast.

What care we
Which cause is right
'Tis war that makes us bold.
Sound reveille
To prove our might
And fill our sacks with gold.

They all have died
But we survived
To plan our next campaign.
They died for pride
We so contrived
To make our war humane.

A simple lie
To so deny
That profit was our goal.
And by and by
We justify
Our noble  kingly role.

For war is ours
To have and hold
While we in power be. . .
Our greed devours
Young and old
And insures our destiny.