For whom do the bells tollWhen sentenced to dieThe stuttering
riflesWill stifle the cryThe monstrous angerThe fear's
rapid rattleA desert infernoKids dying like cattleDon't
tell meWe're not preparedI've seen today's
marineHe's eighteen and he's eagerHe can be quite
meanNo mock'ries for themNo prayers or bellsThe demented
choirsThe wailing of shellsThe boys holding candlesOn untraveled
roadsThe fear spreads like fireAs shrapnel explodesI think
it's wrongTo conscript our youthAgainst their willWhen
plenty of our citizenryReally like to killWhat sign posts will
leadTo armageddon's firesWhat bugles will call themFrom
crowded grey shiresThe women sit quietWith death on their mindsA
slow dusk descendingThe drawing of blindsMake the hunters all
line upIt's their idea of funAnd let those be forgivenWho
never owned a gunWas it him or meOr the wailing of the deadThe
laughing soldiersCast their lotsAnd you can cut the dread