With Love, From Gaza

There's a little boy
In a heap of rubble
Crying for the bombs to stop

People gather
Holding one another
Praying for the madness to end

These children
These children
These children
Poor forsaken little souls
These children
These children
These children
Where they’ll go
No one knows

Shards of broken glass
Litter stranded dirt roads
Lined with all the fallen men

Uniforms salute
With gun wielding fingertips
Arms aimed at the opposite flag

They'll never think of

These children
These children
These children
Poor forsaken little souls
These children
These children
These children
Where they’ll go
No one knows