My Children

The kings have risen and fallen, over land they’ve quarreled to gain. “My earth, my fields!” they kept calling; in that earth my children remain.

Some children, they’re dying of hunger. Some children are dying in pain. But every which way their hearts stop to beat, those children of mine die in vain.

Some children, they fear skies of thunder. Some children, they fear skies of rain. But children of mine fear thundering planes, the fire and death that they rain.

My children want no loot or plunder. My children care not for your reign. My children, they want the peace they are due, and yet, my children are slain.