In the smoke-filled air, where the cannons roar,
I hear the rich man’s laughter, like thunder on the shore.
With his pockets lined with gold, he sits up high,
While we’re down in the trenches, just trying to get by.
He counts his coins and plots his grand schemes,
While we’re dodging bullets, chasing shattered dreams.
“Go fight for freedom!” he shouts from his throne,
But it’s our blood on the ground, not his, alone.
I’m not a pawn in his game of greed,
Not a soldier for hire to fulfill his need.
I’ve got a life to live, a heart that beats,
Not a soldier’s grave where the rich man retreats.
With every bomb that drops, I hear a child cry,
And I won’t let their laughter be silenced or die.
So, I’ll stand my ground, I’ll raise my voice,
I’ll fight for the people, for love, not for choice.
The fields are stained with stories untold,
Of brave souls who marched, but their futures sold.
So here’s my promise, loud and clear,
I’m not going to die for a rich man’s veneer.
I’ll stand with my brothers, my sisters in arms,
For the dreams of the many, for our shared charms.
So let the rich man plot, let him scheme and prepare,
But I’ll fight for the people, and I’ll always be there.
So here’s to the fighters, the ones who believe,
In a world where we all can finally breathe.
Not for the fortune, not for the crown,
But for the love of our lives, let’s take this town down.
