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