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lyrics
All the dead soldiers
The young men are lined up in their neat endless rows
The dull earth hides the fact of their unruly bones
Commandeered and assembled into neat, covered piles
For politicians to publicly reconcile
In neat lined pages they count the recovered
To assemble neat meaning for all the fathers and mothers
And the mighty mark their conquests by inches and dreams
A dead man’s only a loss when his mangled body can be seen
And the young men who crowded the bars with their dreams
Could not imagine their parents tears falling in streams
All the working class Johnnys and all the peasant Mehmets
Are now all just the same in the ground where they met
Their dreams sunk in the mud of some absent mens' vision
All youthful joy buried under the weight of their new wisdom
And there're are no cameras to capture the smashed empty bottles
The screams in the night or the broken man's shuffle
In the halls, in the squares, in the newspaper pages
In stiff, formal letters they're still called up and paraded
Still serving the cause, all of their differences faded
Bloodless and wordless with others icons they're laden
And the mighty mark their conquests by inches and dreams
A dead man’s only a loss when his mangled body can be seen
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