Those were the times that war became even more insane,
The times that made each action ever more inane:
When enemies came together in camaraderie,
When enemies showed respect for professional longevity-
We’d get on so well,
Then blow each other to hell.
We would shake hands,
Then fight for No Man’s Land.
One time we chatted while collecting our dead,
Exchanging stories of the women we had wed;
Another saw us talk of fields occupied by our brothers,
And what we would never write home to our mothers:
Ever condensing our shared experience
Within snatches of time with expediency.
Because on each side we were the same:
Pawns playing out the politician’s game.
Those times made a sham and a mockery of sacrifice,
And showed what could be done by a trap full of mice
That our leaders had quite simply failed to achieve,
Leaving the populace in the path of this grand cleave.
We would have ended it any day,
If we had just known the way;
Rather than remain stout professionals
Killing with an ever-growing arsenal-
Yes, we would have ended it any day,
Downed tools and walked swiftly away,
But for our stiff resolve and sense of duty-
Those things that made us quite, quite loony.
So that all we had were those times war laid down
And we populated the fields of mud brown
With minds full of peace,
Searching desperately for reprieve.
