Tuesday, May 25, 2010

Foreign Affairs

Thousands are born in the morning
A thousand more die under the moon
What kind of teacher is war?

Families huddle together
Waiting for dawn
But the sun is well hidden
And the lamp is burning low

Tell them it's for God
And watch the tears flow
Bullets explain nothing

Words can make sense of death
But never relieve the pain
So I sip my wine, as devils dance
And angels pray for change


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