Death hue falling on the faces of the streets lost children as the mortar fire broken in. Nights cold, slipping through the cracks, breaking through the cracks of crumbling plaster. Hunger gnaws, I can feel it claws, but the pain of a bullet would burn much hotter in the spot light, mounted on the cannon of the tank the prowls. Holy war, deliver me, rest my fear, I can not see. Nameless, but I know the faces of the kids I sleep in Jezebels lair with Thoughtless breaking my bread tween the mine fields flowers and gullies with daises. Some times I can find some rations that a solider let fall when the wind or life left him. Some times I can find a gun on a pistol or a knife to use. Holy war, deliver me, rest my fear, I can not see. My eyes are blind, my bodies lame, my families gone, in my god's name, Holy Wars. Nameless, faceless, but a tear or a dollar won't buy my justice. Fearless, clothed less than a war-torn child should sleep or focus.