There was no war, or warning
"Stay inside" they said.
There was no reason
Only a cold and empty mercantile explanation
There will be no justice
There's no compassion
Not a single tear or token of genuine kindness.

Gave brave men inadequate tools
Leaving them to take the remorse
Helplessly watching London burn.

They say how awful
And retreat to comfort, homes of luxury
Thinking, that the poor are forever present.
They will make plenty more.
Behind the door they sigh and say, "How tired I am today"

How can they sleep?
My heart is broken

How can they not weep?
How offer a token?

Not a thought for the orphans whose parents tossed them into the unknown
Casting away ideas of burning flesh that was their own