As lambs we are marching towards the slaughterhouse,
through blood and gore, forests, rocks and vast deserts’ sands,
since the dawn of man to satisfy lust and greed
whose cloak has always been woven with threads of want
or need. In the beginning, it was with bare hands,
then with wood and stone but since the time of bronze came
the sheer scale has been rising up in leaps and bounds
until the Little Boy gave us nuclear liberty.
(We must leave due blood and fame for the Fat Man too!)
Still our march towards the slaughterhouse never stops,
for the men in power need these wars to remain,
should God need the strength of men to defend His name!
So we march ahead and the crimson river too;
give birth to saints women, not generals, will you!