History May Not Repeat, But Often Rhymes

Those old men in their towers, rich in gold and oil and powers  
Will never cry ‘enough, I’m satisfied’
And they send out their town criers, and their skilful journaliars
And they cast their spell so trusted and so tried

See the other, over there? What they’re doing is unfair
And their ways are wrong and evil and obscene
We must fear them and must hate them, and completely decimate them
For while they live the world is never clean

So they’ll march boys off to war as they’ve marched them off before
And they beat the drums of falsehood and of shame
And if judgement’s to be had between what’s good and bad
then first you need to ask the killer’s name

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