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

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