Do you think as they spend their war profits,
That they stop to think how they earned it?
The screaming teenagers, dying on the battlefield,
Believing they died to protect our rights?
Do you think it weighs on their brain?
The cushy chairs, the skyline views,
Must be tough sending others off to die.
And all you gotta do is put on a sad face when the caskets
Come back by the truckload.
There's a lot of blood on their hands, and
All the water in the world couldn't wash it away.
Tell me, Mr. Suit, how do you sleep at night,
Knowing your monetary gains come at a personal loss?
It might not faze you now, but karma's a bitch
And I hope she has a field day with you.