When all the world is quiet and at peace
See how the war machine it blunders on
Creating havoc that may never cease
Unless we tell those mongrels to be gone.
But it's so easy for them to divide
Humanity to give them more control
And gradually we sink and we subside
Into their nasty money-grabbing hole.
So very, very cleverly they spin
And weave their lies, and all the truth they crush
Until at last, of course, we all cave in
To deeds that would make Machiavelli blush.
And then poor modern man, with little hope,
He slips upon an ever steepening slope.
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