To War Young Man

To war young man, is the solders cry; we must honor ourselves in battle.
We suckle no more, the cradle is gone I give you a sword and take your rattle.
To the ends of the earth, march on my son, heaven is on your side.
We will strike the enemy, in the light of day, there is no place to run, turn or hide.
Listen to the sound; the drums beat loud, calling all men to their place.
This land is ours, and shall remain, for the enemy is of a different race.
He will eat our food; drink our water, till the earth and more.
We cannot have him on our land, for we are rich and he is poor.
To war young man, our thoughts are pure, we only kill what we must.
Our cannon balls will explode in their laps and their plows will turn to rust.
I see a cold fear that is upon your face, a fear that is in your eyes,
I tell you the truth, I have nothing to hide, I am your friend, and only the enemy can lie!



All these things you speak are true; every word is just and pure,
But I wonder, sir, how would it be, if we were them, and they had the cure?
I wonder if we would look for a better life, or not try to better ourselves,
I wonder sir, is it us that is the cause and never takes the time to delve.



To war young man, I have said many times, that it is the answer to all,
We must march in this line; carry our flag, for today the enemy will fall!
Today is the day that has no end, we will remember it all our lives,
Today is the day that we will end all of this, and bask in the mourn of their cry.
I have seen this before, I am experienced, and I will not let you down,
But should we fall, we will not lose; our reason is just and sound!
I have no fear, I will not run, I will stop those different than us,
Their weapons are tears, and cry’s of pain, at most, a minor fuss.
They are inferior to us, their crops have failed, and their land cannot even coax the rain,
So why should we feed them, why should we care, why should we feel their pain?
Help is what they want, from this land of plenty, and that is not what they will receive, their customs are not ours, the language is different, we do not have the time to relieve.



Our medicines can heal their sick, our food can feed these people, and I wonder sir, how should we act, should we tear the church from the steeple?
I wonder sir, does our gift of plenty last forever, can the tide not change and run the other way, could it be them, and us, they will sever.




To war young man, our ways are just, our ways are right!
We have no cause; we will do it in spite!

But sir, I ask you, would we not go to dry land if our rivers were to flood,
Or should we drown in our pride, our conceit, do our wounds not yield blood?



To war young man, we must fight these demons, their religion is not our own.
But sir, did God come only to us, did God create all, does he sit only on our throne?



To war young man, we must hasten now, our rifles are growing cold.
But sir, should we not talk to them first, and perhaps, we can break this mold.



To war young man, that is our only chance, we cannot listen to a thief or a lie.
But sir, we are the thief if we take their life, and only we tell lies if we do not try.



To war young man, I tell you now, and this is all that I will speak.
But sir, this is good, because tragedy is all that you seek.
Sir, let us fight our ignorance for that is the enemy.
We all love, hate, hold, cry, cherish, and mourn, we all strive, and breath;
We are all the same blood!



Rick Allen Bennett