It doesn't make any sense
the men do not wage war
They are too old and too wise
they remain sensible
Nothing changes

The danger is pending
Where is the passion
the fierce infatuation
with each other's fading eyes
while the blood gushes?

They cannot even see each other
only in clear weather, the towers
of the city and the plumes of smoke
above the camp of the enemy
who sets off with bravado

to rob fishermen and shepherds
Everything valuable from the villages
furniture and healthy girls
are they shipping to dealers
in neutral ports

The trade makes them rich
The siege can wait, the need
to break through is after all the last
hope and fear
of gaining or losing fame