[Verse 1] Europe had a slogan and a very lovely plan: No more funny business from the helmet-wearing man. The Germans made the cars, the French made lunch and wine, And everyone agreed that war was terribly off-brand this time. Then Russia started doing what it does when left alone, And America said, “Call me,” then forgot to charge its phone. So Brussels called a summit with a very solemn face, Then filed the fear politely in a folder marked “Just In Case.” The dove looked in the mirror with a sad, embarrassed pause, And found, beneath the feathers, two professionally sharpened claws. While Berlin, looking nervous, in its careful German way, Said, “Perhaps we build some weapons — but responsibly, okay?” [Pre-Chorus] The cannon got a permit, The shell was TÜV-approved. The dove was briefly audited, Then tactically improved. [Chorus] We thought the war song had lost its tune, Locked with the rifles in a windowless room. Then the old gods woke, one by one— The continent relearns to hold a gun. The dove walks slow where the rifles sleep, With feathers white and its eyes sunk deep. It sings the song that should have stayed gone, And all the doves softly sing along. [Verse 2] The factories woke quietly with a cough and formal grin, And asked if making thunder could be counted as a sin. The budgets came in smiling in a safety-coloured dress, And called a million shells an act of civilized distress. The drones were very modern, very clean, and very small, Which made it feel less brutal when they flew above us all. The hand may say “defensive,” the machine may nod along, But iron has a memory and industry has song. And Germany, still nervous, with a clipboard at the door, Said, “We’ve improved the process since the last time, furthermore.” But once the line starts singing and the steel begins to run, The hardest thing to manufacture is a reason to be done. [Pre-Chorus 2] The contract says “protection,” The profit whispers “more.” A gun built for the border Starts looking for a door. [Chorus] We thought the war song had lost its tune, Locked with the rifles in a windowless room. Then the old gods woke, one by one— The continent relearns to hold a gun. The dove walks slow where the rifles sleep, With feathers white and its eyes sunk deep. It sings the song that should have stayed gone, And all the doves softly sing along. [Bridge] We wanted markets, bread, and trains, Not boys in mud with borrowed names. We wanted borders soft with trade, Not mothers counting what was paid. But one man dreams, and the others learn, That every bridge can start to burn. So peace walks down with lowered head, To wake the things it swore were dead. And if the dove must carry steel, Then let it hate the weight it feels. For once it loves the shining chain, The song repeats itself again. [Final Chorus] We thought the war song had lost its tune, Locked with the rifles in a windowless room. Now peace has learned the soldier’s art, And keeps a bunker in its heart. The hand says, “Only till we’re free,” The gun says, “Leave the rest to me.” The dove still dreams of being gone, But wakes with armour growing on.
