Childrens' voices from the grave,
Screaming out their fateful falling,
Hurling hurt towards the heavens,
Not knowing what the blast can do.
Bombs of plenty on the mantle,
Neatly tucked for some tommorrow,
Eager eyes who will see no truth,
In what disaster they will promise.
Haunting hate with no foundation,
Stews and brews in caldrons made,
Who records the crashing moments
When the naked children die?
Faraway of lands they're coming,
Calling out that God prevails,
But no God would **** the babies,
Except a being who lives in Hell.
Fires flourish in their visions,
People die with blistering eyes,
Losing all they ever fostered,
In their dreams of lullabies.