Who will save the war child, baby?
Who controls the keys? 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 meWar child
Victim of political pride Plant the seed, territorial greed Mind the war child We should mind the war childI 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 of pride A two-inch deep incision carved, into his sideWar child
Victim of political pride Plant to seed, territorial greed Mind the war child We should mind the war childWhose the loser now, eh?
Whose the loser now? We’re all the losers now We’re all the losers now War child, war child