Who heard the guns at Waterloo?
Who remembers those days today,
To bear the rancour this day too?
The writer's pen captures in ink,
The time we were meant to forget.
We read much but we do not think,
And contrived hatred we beget.
None lives who saw the mad work done.
But mention an imagined past,
None hesitate to pick a gun
And swear to defend to the last.
The last who remember are dead
We rush to take their place instead.
(a-b-a-b c-d-c-d e-f-e-f g-g)