Send Your Own Sons

You draw your borders on a map, then lock the palace door. You call our children heroes, but never hear the mothers mourn. From rooms where no windows break, you decide how much blood it takes. If war is worth the price you claim, send your own sons in our name. No flag can warm an empty bed, no speech can wake the dead. You pose beneath the cameras, with medals on your chest. You promise peace by morning, then order one more death. If war is worth the price you claim, send your own sons in our name. No flag can warm an empty bed, no speech can wake the dead. You build the fear. You sell the cure. You start the fire and call it war. Send your own sons... Leave ours at home.