Young men, soldiers, Nineteen Fourteen
Marching through countries theyd never seen
Virgins with rifles, a game of charades
All for a Childrens Crusade
Pawns in the game are not victims of chance
Strewn on the fields of Belgium and France
Poppies for young men, deaths bitter trade
All of those young lives betrayed
The children of England would never be slaves
Theyre 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
Historys lessons drowned in red wine
Poppies for young men, deaths bitter trade
All of those young lives betrayed
All for a Childrens Crusade
The children of England would never be slaves
Theyre 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 Childrens Crusade
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