Who controls the key?
The web we weave is thick and sordid,
Fine by me.
At times of war we're all the losers,
There's no victory.
We shoot to kill and kill your lover,
Fine by me.
War child, victim of political pride.
Plant the seed, territorial greed.
Mind the war child,
We should mind the war child.
I spent last winter in New York,
And came upon a man.
He was sleeping on the streets and homeless,
He said, "I fought in Vietnam."
Beneath his shirt he wore the mark,
He bore the mark with pride.
A two inch deep incision carved,
Into his side.
War child, victim of political pride.
Plant the seed, territorial greed.
Mind the war child,
We should mind the war child.
Who's the loser now? Who's the loser now?
We're all the losers now. We're all the losers now.
War child. [X2]
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