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[ music: john lombardo/lyric: john lombardo adapts wilfred owen ]For whom 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