Picked apart by hungry bird beaks
Mama doesn't look very pretty with out her skin
Run, the last word frozen on his face
Papa didn't get very far without his limbs
Roofless home burned, nowhere else to go
No milk or wine from her breast, just blackened snow
When there is nothing left no one wins
They took everything you had, and left you for dead
Blood on your hands a hundred generations deep
If this is what made you a man, what kind of man will you be ?
Little hands hold indifferent machines
It takes you four fingers just to pull the trigger
Just to pull the trigger
You have nothing but revenge
You have nothing but revenge
War child
War child
War child
War child
War child
Who will cry for you?
who will cry for you?
War child
Who will cry for you?
War child I will cry for you