From the album "The Key to a Happy Life - Disc 1"
Didn't die in any battle but might have all the same.
No comrades there to honour him - no last post in the rain.
Wasn't at Gallipoli, Passchendaele or Verdun,
Never shivered in the trenches or deafened by the guns.
But when the war was over, and the victory had been won,
He still lay there in a prison cell, his sentence just begun.
And the one and only medal that he wore - a white feather.
They said his country needed him to fight in foreign lands,
Though he wouldn't harm a single soul, this quiet and gentle man.
Condemned for his conscience he bravely stood alone,
But how could he slaughter others - those he'd never known?
And amid the accusations and angry words of blame,
In a world that's going crazy - who really is insane?
All his friends and neighbours - his family as well,
Turned their backs upon him all in his private hell.
Treated as a criminal - worse than any foe.
Arrested and convicted - fed only sour dough.
Till finally the warders said he could take no more,
Or they'd need an undertaker to get him out the door.
So many gave their lives all in this noble cause,
Or was it lions led by donkeys in a war to end all wars?
Call them murderers or heroes - depends which side you're on,
Some say it makes no difference - either one was wrong.
As conflicts continue, and the years go rolling by,
In his psychiatric ward a conchie waits to die.