Rebellion

'My Crown Prince was fine and fair,' a sorrowful father said, 'But he marched away with his regiment and they tell me that he's dead! 'We all must go,' he whispered low, 'We must fight for the Fatherland.' Now the heart of me's torn with the grief I know, and I cannot understand, For none of the Kaiser's princes lie out there where my soldier sleeps; Here's a land where grief is the common lot, but never the Kaiser weeps. 'My Crown Prince was a kindly prince, and his eyes were gentle, too, And glad were the days of his youth to me when his wonderful smile I knew. Then the Kaiser flattered and spoke him well, and he sent him out to die, But his Crown Prince hasn't felt one hurt and the heart of me questions why? He talks of war in his regal way and he boasts of his strength to strike, But his boys all live and he doesn't know what the sting of a bullet's like. 'Rebellion gnaws at the soul of me as I think of his Crown Prince gay, And my Prince cold in the arms of death, and harsh are the things I say. I join with the grief-torn muttering men who challenge the Kaiser's right To build his joys on the graves of ours. We shall rise in our wrath to smite! And this is the thing we shall ask of him: to give us the reason why Our boys must fall on his battlefields, but never his boys must die?'