Who weeps for their children other than the poor
while we watch and blame them for wanting more
while they raise a glass of tears they drank from before

Who lives in the world we try desperately to hide
where death lurks within the time it must bide
where oceans of fear roll striking before the tide

Who entered your heart without invitation
to cultivate their own garden in soil so foreign
to share in its fruit before the dawn of emotion

Who would know of a God the world does ignore
in darkness where plans are made to make war
in darkness with broken promises they once swore