It is the will of few men,
That many must die,
Petty feuds to mend,
And boys in graves to lie,
 

It is the will of few men,
That a mother's son must burn,
His pieces hidden in a glen,
Not enough found to fill an urn,
 

It is the will of hate,
That, for many, shall seal fate,
 

It is the will of sorrow,
That will see hundreds bloodied on the morrow,
 

It is the will of greed,
That spreads noxious gasses,
Stacks the bodies in masses,
That the death of teens is decreed,
 

It is the will of legislation,
That our men shall hang,
Streets sweep in desolation,
The songs of widows sang.