It is a war my son, It is a war
When a morning sky wouldn’t embrace the sun
When a mother loses every day a son
When peace ceases to be even a dream
When the softest word morphs into a scream
When the river dries and the drought flows
When spring rejects the fragrance of the rose:
Call it any other name you want
but it’s a war
Although we have no tanks to face their tanks
Although, in scores, every day we fall
Both sides will pay, my son, before it’s over
The body may escape
Never the soul
It is the war the elders spoke about
and it will burn us all
It is a war, my son, that’s forced upon us
We won’t leave, my son, our home is here
Maybe we have no choice
yet I am choosing:
I’d rather face the war
than live the fear