Tooled up, the army chaplain
Is wielding the words of God
Straight in for the kill
With ‘The work of His will’
And ‘He came not with peace but the rod’
The sixth commandment is tricky
A most inconvenient law
For the turn of a cheek
On the battle field bleak
Is far from conducive to war
So, pity the army chaplain
And the conflict that rages within
As the ranks of the dead
Tramp a march through his head
And he murders his conscience with gin
by Gail
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