Beneath the lake, in Gray-town's hollow,
A fertile field once breathed and grew
A place of plenty, whispered immortality,
Where no grave ever took root.

It sounded so nice,
Yet sad to see:
Pain and sorrow are strewn across the world,
Colonies and states come to pass.

Oh! An agent of obliteration
Booms that answer with no joy,
Force without the mercy of love,
Massacre made holy by the gun

Children learn the boom of guns:
Able-bodied men become disabled,
The elderly's death comes so fast,
Women die before their time.

A silent crack: lousy and dangerous
Threats that rot and stain the soul.
Life abused, the natural world undone:
Good things felled by darker hands.

Felonies become the excuse for war,
Simple offences, misdemeanours now legal,
Laws and crimes blur and harden,
Survival of the fittest reigns in the land.

Oh war! What a wicked germ!
Let us stand firm,
And kill the term.