Young men, soldiers, nineteen fourteen

Marching through countries they'd never seen

Virgins with rifles, a game of charades

All for a children's crusade.

Pawns in the game are not victims of chance

Strewn on the fields of belgium and france

Poppies for young men, death's bitter trade

All of those young lives betrayed.

The children of england would never be slaves

They're 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

History's lessons drowned in red wine

Poppies for young men, death's bitter trade

All of those young lives betrayed

All for a children's crusade.

The children of england would never be slaves

They're 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 children's crusade.