The real world, outside the boundary of leisure,

is the world that gives you not much pleasure.

A world of sadness, a world of pain,

the war has started, started again.

Too late to stop it, much too late.

The anger has risen, so has the hate.

Innocent people, nothing do they we’re wrong

but should not their then, live much wrong?

 

Mothers fathers, husbands and wives,

all destroyed by the enemy’s knives.

People die, buildings shatter,

the party, the ones responsible for matters.

Children look forward to their mothers’ arrivals, mothers arrivals,

but the mothers are in the hands of the rivals.

So, then what answers the children’s wait?

Only cruelty, hardness, anger and hate.

They try to survive, how they try,

but they are homeless and left to die.

Nobody to turn to, nowhere to go

they’ll have to face the cold winds that blow.

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