"Children's Crusade" lyrics
Young men, soldiers, nineteen fourteen
Marching through countries they'd never seen
Virgins with rifles, a game of charades
All for a Children's Crusade
Pawns in the game are not victims of chance
Strewn on the fields of Belgium and France
Poppies for young men, death's bitter trade
All of those young lives betrayed
The children of England
Would never be slaves
They're trapped on the wire
And dying in waves
The flower of England
Face down in the mud
And stained in the blood
Of a whole generation
Corpulent generals safe behind lines
History's lessons drowned in red wine
Poppies for young men, death's bitter trade
All of those young lives betrayed
All for a Children's Crusade
The children of England
Would never be slaves
They're trapped on the wire
And dying in waves
The flower of England
Face down in the mud
And stained in the blood
Of a whole generation
The children of England
Would never be slaves
They're trapped on the wire
And dying in waves
The flower of England
Face down in the mud
And stained in the blood
Of a whole generation
Midnight in Soho, nineteen eighty-four
Fixing in doorways, opium slaves
Poppies for young men, such bitter trade
All of those young lives betrayed
All for a Children's Crusade
Marching through countries they'd never seen
Virgins with rifles, a game of charades
All for a Children's Crusade
Pawns in the game are not victims of chance
Strewn on the fields of Belgium and France
Poppies for young men, death's bitter trade
All of those young lives betrayed
The children of England
Would never be slaves
They're trapped on the wire
And dying in waves
The flower of England
Face down in the mud
And stained in the blood
Of a whole generation
Corpulent generals safe behind lines
History's lessons drowned in red wine
Poppies for young men, death's bitter trade
All of those young lives betrayed
All for a Children's Crusade
The children of England
Would never be slaves
They're trapped on the wire
And dying in waves
The flower of England
Face down in the mud
And stained in the blood
Of a whole generation
The children of England
Would never be slaves
They're trapped on the wire
And dying in waves
The flower of England
Face down in the mud
And stained in the blood
Of a whole generation
Midnight in Soho, nineteen eighty-four
Fixing in doorways, opium slaves
Poppies for young men, such bitter trade
All of those young lives betrayed
All for a Children's Crusade
Writer(s): Gordon Matthew Sumner
