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Never had she wept like she now weeps,
To see their child go to endless sleeps,
The thirsty bullets that spilled the blood,
The walls that saw the red turned mud,
The books that mumble their names still,
The empty benches at the school to fill,
What about the mother that awaits,
To feed her hungry child few sweetened dates,
What about the father who sung them lullaby,
The last one at the grave-yard was his heart's cry,
Which country can earn power by burning innocents?
And see a hundred broken weeping parents,
What human were they if they were any?
To kill a nation’s soul with their bullets raining.
