The Call - Country Joe McDonald

Far and near, high and clear

Hark to the call of War

Over the gorse and the golden dells

Ringing and swinging the clamorous bells

Praying and saying of wild farewells:

War!

War!

War!

High and low, all must go:

Hark to the shout of War!

Leave to the women the harvest yield;

Gird ye, men, for the sinister field;

A sabre instead of a scythe to wield;

War!

Red war!

Rich and poor, lord and boor

Hark to the blast of War!

Tinker and tailor and millionaire

Actor in triumph and priest in prayer

Comrades now in the hell out there

Sweep to the fire of War!

Prince and page, sot and sage

Hark to the roar of War!

Poet, professor and circus clown

Chimney-sweep and fop of the town

Into the pot and be melted down:

Into the pot of War!

Women all, hear the call

The pitiless call of War!

Look your last on your dearest ones

Brothers and husbands, fathers, sons:

Swift they go to the ravenous guns

The gluttonous guns of War

Everywhere thrill the air

The maniac bells of War

There will be little of sleeping to-night;

There will be wailing and weeping to-night;

Death’s red sickle is reaping to-night:

War!

War!

War!

War!

War!

War!

War!

War!

War!

War!

War!

War!

War!

War!

War!

War!

War!

War!

War!

War!

War!

War!