(Soldiers and Children of War) br br Long days gone, long nights perilous in their wake, smoky haze for days to come, br Lives blotted, eyes forlorn, raging storms in the heart of the land as too outside br Do we live but to pick up the pieces, weave minds, build homes, and heal bones, br Dreaming and living, re-living the dreams, of a life gone past br or does it all start from tomorrow? br br Is there an end in sight, oh men in shirts planning and signing off battles on desks br Have you strategically drawn up sweaty palms nursing broken homes br Stringing bloody pearls, patching gory wounds, oh their weary existence br Living on puddles, river water, running red for days of sorrow, miles from home br Broken men, weeping women, lost children building villages? br br Who absolves whom when eyes and voices plead and hands pray for mercy br Old folk, with the weak swallowed, the fallen to be hidden by dusty mounds br Will this soon be forgotten with long smoky days and haunting vivid nights br Or is it a life time with the turning season but with no hope for me, for us, br Oh! men in crisp shirts planning and scheming on your desks or heavens above? br br Tell me, who else sees what I see, where do I search for those seeking the day br When broken homes are nursed by healed bones, gory minds building villages br Broken men and weeping women searching for things they once knew br When red rivers of sorrow shimmer in the opaque silver moon with a vibrant new life br A smoky lazy haze welcoming the end in sight...