Who knew that a country could turn on itself
Letting its streets reek of blood?
Who knew that the world could sit back and watch
As a nation committed suicide?

Who knew that the hands of your best friend
The one you loved to hold walking to school
Would one day hold the weapon of your demise
Her blade dripping your neighbor's blood
Or your mother's
Or your uncle's
Or just another farmer's
You wouldn't be able to tell anymore

Imagine
The anthem of a race, with hate as their weapon,
Would be the cries of those slowly dying
Bleeding for one hundred days
And crying for one hundred nights
Imagine the cries of your family
And the chaos brewing outside your door
As your only lullaby

That was my once a place I called home