Of fear and war the twisted truth is money made from arms
By companies who surely know their products will be harm
The buisness is an old one, their premises are clean
It all goes on with no sense of remorse
A cancer of components is part made within the gates
Where precision engineers made triggers to rain hate
On enemies around the World, whoever they may be
Their fate is sealed with no sense of remorse
Of national security the manager calmly spoke
Had making deals with Israel made him a poker face bloke?
But security for England has mutilated Iraq
And his money has no sense of remorse
A surrounding fence was placed when people did proclaim
Get out of our fair city now, get out you work for shame
With their racket of saucepan lids 'gainst the horror of all bombs
But work goes on without a sense of remorse
The servile soldiers are equipped with weapons and then trained
In warfare for a father-land and never to complain
But if there were no weapons made then there would be no war
And there would be no feelings of remorse
One factory is only small compared to the arms trade
The nessicery componants however there are made
Is this what we pay our taxes for, why must it be this way?
And Death drives out with no sense of remorse
The questions they all run so deep if you go and question war
The language speaks about defence, attack is what it's for
And causes made to kill others will one day return home
And families may feel a sense of remorse
I asked what would employers do with their considerable skills
If they had another job than making tools to kill
It seems they are happy in their work, must be eager for more war
War pays their wage with no sense of remorse
B52's and cluster bombs are well know in the trade
Obliterating innocents is where it chiefly pays
Do we subscribe to legal murder or say we shall have no more
Or do we also have no sense of remorse?
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