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 these 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