If the War Goes On

If this torch lays waste to summer, will my honor have been served? Will the victory be final and the triumph be deserved? If the flames blaze to their fullest, will they offer any light As I peer into the darkness standing guard throughout the night? Then a gunshot cracks the dawn, and the war goes on. I’m feeling old, love, sick of this campaign. I’m feeling old, love. All it does is rain. If this sword sweeps through October, will the harvest have been good? Will the meaning of the struggle be more clearly understood? If the cannon roar much louder, will a tender word survive? Will I stoop to vulgar gestures just to prove I’m still alive? Then I hear a marching song, and the war goes on. I’m feeling old, love, as do those who serve. I’m feeling old, love, more than I deserve. If this war outlasts the winter, will my love be there come spring, Picking flowers for the wedding wearing someone else’s ring? Will my bayonet be ruthless when the next attack begins? Will the battle be worth fighting knowing no one ever wins? Now my ammunition’s gone, but the war goes on I’m feeling old love breaking through the line. I’m feeling old love, once I thought was mine.