| Rosebuds scattered across the lawn like the squares at waterloo | |
| With bayonets of thorns repelling small children in search of lost tennis balls | |
| Imaginary cannonballs that were fired at the legs of galloping cavalry | |
| Resting their dreams in the shade of the apple trees | |
| Toy soldiers drunk on warm lemonade | |
| And the children dream of glory and fortunes of war | |
| Safe in bed with stories of fortunes of war, fortunes of war | |
| As the sun sets low on these playing fields | |
| An army returns bearing swords and shields | |
| Dustbin lids and raspberry canes they'll live to fight another day | |
| For warriors medals, milk bottle tops | |
| Battle flags fashioned from mother's old table cloths | |
| Bright colours run in the summer rain | |
| Sometimes when they fall they will pretend that their hankie is a bandage to stop the bleeding | |
| And imagine city streets and desert storms and foreign fields | |
| There's bullets flying, these are the fortunes of war | |
| I heard a wheelchair whisper across a stale, stagnant gymnasium | |
| Trailing an ivy league jacket like a matador | |
| Through the jitterbug steps of the night before | |
| I followed him down to the church parade | |
| Where he makes his peace every armistice day | |
| I watched him fade away, melt in the autumn rain | |
| For sometimes when they fall they can't pretend | |
| That the hankie is a bandage that can't stop the bleeding | |
| They're out in city streets and desert storms or foreign fields | |
| With bullets flying, these are the fortunes of war | |
| While their children dream of glory and fortunes of war | |
| Safe in bed with stories and fortunes of war | |
| Of uniforms and glory, fortunes of war, fortunes of war | |
| (dick/cassidy/boult) |
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