They sit around a table With polished shoes and bespoke suits Unaware of how it feels To put their feet in army boots They plan and plot with diligence Behind a studded door Rich men sit in offices, poor boys go to war They’re far away from enemy lines There’s no immediate threat They fear not of buying drones and bombs It will be someone else’s debt And sleeping soundly in their beds They won’t hear the missiles roar Rich men sit in offices, poor boys go to war They’ll look at maps on glowing screens And talk of national pride They’ll count the cost of planes they’ve lost But not the souls of those who’ve died There are no winners in this game But newspapers keep score Rich men sit in offices, poor boys go to war They’ll watch with solemn faces As flag-draped coffins land But they’ll still remain oblivious Of each funeral that’s planned The planes that brought these young men home Will soon return for more Rich men sit in offices, poor boys go to war They will not hear the mothers weep Nor see their tear-stained eyes And yet these rich and powerful men Control who lives and dies They do not see the blood get spilled On some far-off, distant shore Rich men sit in offices, poor boys go to war And when the dust has settled When medals gleam so bright When PTSD comes calling In the darkest depths of night Somewhere, plans are being made Just like they were before Rich men sit in offices, poor boys go to war Rich men sit in offices, poor boys... , poor boys... go to war
