The blessed olive tree sheds a tear
Where the red river meanders close by here
Through its path of twisted sorrow
As lasses lament their lost tomorrows.
Deaf ears do not hear the cries
Blind eyes see not those who die
Hidden keys rust away
Stuffed in mattresses made of clay.
Children play games of hide and seek
And skip along jagged streets
Broken and torn just like the souls
Cast upon the smoldering coals.
Dead mothers sing songs to unborn sons
Wild doves flounder above the storms
Explosives threaten our way of life
What is the ransom of this surreal price?
The truth has been distorted with hate and scorn
The orphan languishes all forlorn
When will the beloved olive tree
Cease to cry for you and me?