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!