This is for the innocent ones
Living isolated in silence
So we can grow in abundance
On sacrifice of daughters and sons
Fighting for the unknown
Unable to find the reason
Scared of the treason
Waiting to be shown
Is it fair?
For the ones buried in sand
Or pyres are burnt on barren land
No, it's not rare!
There is no fun
In running here and there
The need is of prayer
To protect from sound of the gun
No pain, no affliction
Once they serve their role
Tired of waiting for their turn
Waiting for the Revelation
Bruised flesh and bones
In an act of war
Enough, doesn't need more
Let's stay in our safe zones
Neither a heathen, nor a believer
Taking slow steps to the graveyard
They walk silently broken, scarred
Not a cleaver, they need a weaver!
