Oh bleeding child...

two trains pass, cutting through the soil like blades,

oh help! help! this bleeding child is still young

born in the morning as a long night fades,

in the scorching sun, songs remain unsung.

they stab their own flags upon the soil's chest

rubbing each other's colours off the skin,

burning skin turns red, no mercy, no rest,

differences and blood thick and patience thin.

the child toils to fill pockets of the few,

sleeps in garbage, wakes up from loud slogans,

none looks at the child, busy in prayers due,

the child is wounded by knives, words and guns.

oh bleeding child, with needles you were pricked,

time and again, by your own you were tricked...