You were only eighteen,
When we put a red beret on your head,
When we told you "beat down
Anything that moves."
It wasn't clear that you were a fascist,
Parachutist.
So, your intelligence was forged,
From battle to battle,
You know that there are
Only two types of people,
Those who are good and terrorists,
Parachutist.
Then we gave you promotions,
Heroes of each defeat,
In all the combats
That you have seen,
In torture you were a specialist,
Parachutist.
And so came honours,
Decorations and medals,
For each bullet in a heart,
For each cut,
For each black cross on your list,
Parachutist.
But unfortunately for you,
The war will soon be over:
No more killing, no more fighting,
What will you do?
You're no longer a deadly artist,
Parachutist.
It's only child's play,
To ask of those who can read,
What you have learnt with me,
The meaning
Of the word, "anti-militarist",
Parachutist.
You've lost none of your skills,
You never miss a riot,
But as we don't really shoot,
You find it dull,
And that's maybe way you're a pessimist,
Parachutist.
But if you're really embarrassed,
To get paid for doing nothing,
You can always retrain,
Along with your old friends,
We're enrolling in the police,
Parachutist.