Another six down, the paper read,
Turn off the TV, go to bed, after all
you'll read it all tomorrow, forget
they're there, forget the sorrow.
It's not like they're our son and daughter.

Our son and daughter fast asleep,
I pray the Lord their souls he'll keep
From useless slaughter from this war
brought upon us from him afar.

Product of oil bureaucracy,
his family of idiocity stay tucked in bed
throughout the night, without pondering
the poor man's fight

It's rich, not poor, who start
these wars. It's poor who only serve the rich
to gain their enduring cross of fame
an endless parade of those young names.

They could be neighbours,could be sons
Remember they're not the only ones.
They could be mine, they could be yours
Concripted through revolving doors.

A better future and better place, the
posters said on that blank wall, they
took the bait and there they went, we know
that now, repent, repent.

A government that is born in war,
cannot be trusted very far.
Our voice must rise against the din,
to save them From more awful sins.
To save the Newborn children too,
that they may start the world anew.

The ones who are born
of peace and grace to take the blinders
from our face.

That we may see with our whole eyes;
the fact that many innocents die,
In saving country, saving face, to me.
is not amazing grace

Amazing grace how sweet the sound........
is not of hearses coming round

Debra. 07.07.2007