I miss those rose-tinted days in the sun,
When fighting with wooden swords was a game.
No matter how many times we’d been slain,
We’d just stand up and go back to square one.
Back then, the war, to us, was exciting;
Being a soldier was a fine honour.
Or becoming a knight addressed as ‘sir’.
We never imagined death as something.
Now that I’ve seen it with my own two eyes,
I want no part in it any longer.
Keep the despair, the cries, and the somber.
Bring me back to my homely paradise.