Mothers and fathers of sons, what will you be saying
When the crimson sickle slashes the living grain
And the boy with the morning smile for whom you are praying
Lies stark in the terrible rain?

What will you say when his voice is crying, crying,
Through the soundless night, throughout the unechoing day:
" Why did you let us go to our dying, dying,
In the May of our lives, in the May? "

Mothers and fathers of sons, do you hear that rattle?
It is not too late to rescue ten million sons.
Join in humanity's salvation battle
For a world without greed, without guns.

Mothers and fathers of sons, what will you be saying
— When the crimson sickle slashes the living grain
And the boy with the morning smile for whom you are praying
— Lies stark in the terrible rain?

What will you say when his voice is crying, crying,
— Through the soundless night, throughout the unechoing day:
" Why did you let us go to our dying, dying,
— In the May of our lives, in the May? "

Mothers and fathers of sons, do you hear that rattle?
— It is not too late to rescue ten million sons.
Join in humanity's salvation battle
— For a world without greed, without guns.