Oh What A lovely War

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: War and Military  |  House: Booksie Classic
The loss of Youth in the First World war meant that a generation never had the chance to have a life. The choice was never theirs.

Submitted: October 04, 2012

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Submitted: October 04, 2012



Oh What A Lovely War

The sins of granddad brought me to war

for England has dined on this before.

The arrogance of dad who brags my shoes

for in his eyes I am England blue


The teacher who bellows you do us proud

a vindictive sod who ruled my class

The preacher who seeks my confession

who drinks the blood of Christ in whiskey heaven?

But never mind for god is always right


The trough of greed will grunt with pride

the bombs will fall killing the dreams below.

These fat cats of war all feasting on me

Oh what a lovely war, everybody in work

More champagne for them

and the grapes of wrath for me?


The rain of mother’s tears

will wash my soul

The marbles of play are gone,

No chance for love to warm my nights.

Only frost and the company of rats

gnawing on the bed of my insanity


No youth will smile with me tonight,

no innocence can protect me here.

The voice of death whispers my darkest hour

for this heart will soon be cold

and you who sleep in beds tonight

will never know the truth


The forces of ambition have gathered to see,

this place where youth will die.

Charlie Chaplin give us one last laugh

for the guns are straining on their leashes.

The generals have given their salute

and murder is about to bleed on countries lips

for this is a glorious war.


And in motherland they shall sing my praise,

hero is what I am,

But I still have a voice for one more night

though your ears will be deaf to me


Liars you are to the last,

So dam the lot of you.

For pain and fear is all I know,

the bragging rights will spill your beer

for Life was never mine to enjoy.


The lamb and beast all share my fate

though they will die in peace.

For their bodies serve a natures law

While my carcass will rot in Flanders land


Out of sight of country

for another will take my place.

I am an inmate of war

my letters the only sign of freedom

and my photograph a reminder to those,

who should have protected me?

A youth of another’s man war.


Me, who gave the invisible a lucrative life?

Who served an empty command

watched over by mother’s tears.


My absolution will forgive their sins.

You see I am generous with my spirit

for all I possess are the marbles of childhood

and the mercy that god gave me.

I am every mother’s boy

And every mother is proud of me.


But in death I will not enter Heaven’s gate

For I will wait for them.

Wait for the hand that brought me here

for I need to know the reason why?

Was this Flanders field worth the sacrifice of me?


And as this multitude of youth

marches into the arms of angels pity,

will god be blind to their confession?


For we remember that Charlie Chaplin made us laugh

We remember our mother’s tears

But most of all we will remember the buggers

Who brought us here, to die in Flanders land?

© Copyright 2018 steven cooke. All rights reserved.

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