The wind winds the platform Blows through your suit creases You want us To crucify the enemy for Jesus With your chamber-of-commerce soul You talk of war so bold God is on our side, but He's lost in your wallet-fold And the widows a-sighing The children a-crying The screams of the dying Say you are lying, Uncle John You pull out your Sunday God And hold him up so proud And say he is with us To the Applauding crowd But the burn-blackened place The shredded disfigured face Don't say that God is Love They say that you are Hate And the widows a-sighing The children a-crying The screams of the dying Say you are lying, Uncle John You stand up on the platform With the flag wrapped all around you And tell us that the Bible says To fight for it we're bound to But the Red's for the blood we lose The White's for the gauze they use To cover burned-out blackened men The rest is for the bodies numb and Blue And the widows a-sighing The children a-crying The screams of the dying Say you are lying, Uncle John