The crash of thunder and shots from a gun

hysterical mothers cry 'run children run'!

The gloom that stares them straight in the face

what is innocense doing in such a place?

Bodies strewn, some dead, some not.

Brave men soon to be forgot.

Freedom seems a distant drea,

A painful replay of what had been.

Another blast, this time a bomb.

Targets a child that did no wrong,

his death because of his going ways.

The way he lived to his dying day.

If Gods grace be done by war,

shoot the glory down to the floor

Erase all the life from their brain

So they'll no longer live with the pain.