When they hear the clock strike at the end of the day,
As the ground dust resonates and takes all sight away,
Bomb blasts splutter and make their mark,
Burying the landscape now trapped in the dark.
Trapped under layers of encompassing remains,
All sorry victims of their countries warring games,
Unable to move they struggle with their might,
Until all is removed and they can see the light.
A bleak existence yet still they thrive,
Doing what they can together they survive,
Cities now in ruin, who should they rue?
They shake off the dust from the world they knew.
Blood stained skies, emit the passing sun,
All hope has faded; the darkness has nearly won,
Lost in their sorrows, they shrug it up inside,
With their eyes on tomorrow and the change it may provide.
Machine gun fire echoing into the night,
The discharging rounds give off the only light,
Blood filled rivers flowing, the end result of hate,
Driving the world of tomorrow, a sullen sorry state.
The end of the war is not in sight, th