"Clear the battlefield and let me see,
all the profit from our victory.
You talk of freedom, starving children fall,
are you deaf when you hear the seasons call?
Were you there to watch the Earth be scorched,
did you stand beside the spectral torch?
Know the leaves of sorrow turned their face,
scattered on the ashes of disgrace.
Every blade is sharp, the arrows fly,
where the victims of your armies lie.
Where the blades of grass and arrows reign,
there will be no sorrow, be no pain."
'Battlefield', Tarkus, Emerson Lake and Palmer (1972)