A child learns fear before a song, A house turns dust before too long, The sky is loud, the night won’t sleep, Mothers hold names they cannot keep. Windows shake, the candles fade, Morning never comes the same, Somewhere far, the sirens call, And little hearts grow old too small. No one wins when homes are gone, No light survives for very long, If love is still a living thing, Why do we trade it for the sting? Don’t give the fire another name, Don’t call this loss a necessary pain, Where children tremble, no cause is clean, War steals more than it’s ever seen. Put down the pride, the flags, the blame, No mother dreams of this kind of flame, If peace means silence over graves, Then it was never peace to save. A bed left cold, a toy in ash, A prayer swallowed by the glass, The sea still moves, the wind still knows, How softly every sorrow grows. From broken streets to distant shores, The same grief reaches every door, Different tongues, the same deep cry, No child should learn how hope can die. I want the night to soften again, I want small hands, to open without fear. No sacred thunder, No righteous sound, Stop this before, there is nothing left to save. Don’t give the fire another name, Don’t dress up grief and call it change, Where children tremble, no cause is clean, War leaves a wound in everything. Put down the pride, the flags, the blame, No mother dreams of this kind of flame, And if this world still has a heart, Stop this before there is nothing left to save.