Children will not fear unless your forest swamps them
children will not cry unless their sky falls down,
but they can take a stone and mould it to their soul's shape
while we give them a star and pin it to the ground.
Troops are now marching to the battle line,
but who's the little soldier lagging far behind?
he's only ten years old
but he's strong enough to carry a gun,
'cause they're making guns much lighter now,
and he's not the only one.
Factory doors are open, though still it's early dawn,
the children now are running to beat the factory horn
and they'll work there in the dust and dark
with blistered hands and aching feet,
and when evening comes they'll wander home
with just a little bread to eat.
City lights are glowing, cars are crawling slow.
For girls and boys out on the streets there's nowhere safe to go -
taught to play the adult games
where love has lost its way
and innocence can't be re-found
in the cold light of the day.
My son is running towards the finish line,
but if he ever gets there will it be on time?
And how will he really know
What's right and what is wrong?
And if he has children of his own
Will he listen to their song?
©2003 Rahel Guzelian