(Mallet)

And you say that the battle is over, and you say that the war is all done
Go tell it to those with the wind in their nose who run from the sound of the gun
And write it on the sides of the great whaling-ships,
or on ice floes where conscience is tossed
With the wild in their eyes, it is they who must die,
and it's we who must measure the loss

And you say that the battle is over, and finally the world is at peace
You mean no one is dying, and mothers don't weep, or it's not in the papers, at least
There are those who would deal in the darkness of life,
there are those who would tear down the sun
And most men are ruthless, but some will still weep
when the gifts we were given are gone

Now the blame cannot fall on the heads of a few, it's become such a part of the race
It's eternally tragic when that which is magic be killed at the end of the glorious chase
From young seals to great whales, from waters to wood,
they will fall just like weeds in the wind
With fur coats and perfumes and trophies on walls, what a hell of a race to call men

And you say that the battle is over, and you say that the war is all done
Go tell it to those with the wind in their nose who run from the sound of the gun
And write it on the sides of the great whaling-ships,
or on ice floes where conscience is tossed
With the wild in their eyes, it is they who must die,
and it's we who must measure the loss
With the wild in their eyes, it is they who must die,
and it's we who must measure the loss