My school had a percussion band
Of drums and shakers filled with sand
Cymbals bells and scratchy things
Triangles too were made to ping
The teacher played some music grand
And out the front conducting would stand
Pointing the baton to a great big chart
So we all knew when to play our part
The rhythm of life in Gaza today
Has naught to do with schoolrooms or play
It’s tapped on basins pots and pans
That starving children hold in their hands
Children line up in an orderly way
For food they beg day after day
Wondering how long they must wait
And how to digest this terrible fate
The music they hear is not pleasant or sweet
But made by bombs whining in the street
The roar of buildings crashing down
The screams of mothers - such awful sounds
The rhythm of life in Gaza today
Has naught to do with schoolrooms or play
It’s tapped on basins pots and pans
That starving children hold in their hands
They have no need of beater or stick
Their tears like rain fall just as thick
Their tears make the sound on begging bowls
Conductor grim reaper after their souls
Children drumming in Gaza today
Their tears rattle out the tune of our shame
Will they ever play tambourine
Or will they die in this war obscene?
The rhythm of life in Gaza today
Has naught to do with schoolrooms or play
It’s tapped on basins pots and pans
That starving children hold in their hands
Their stomachs are empty
Stretched tight as a drum
This is our fault
What have we become?
Of drums and shakers filled with sand
Cymbals bells and scratchy things
Triangles too were made to ping
The teacher played some music grand
And out the front conducting would stand
Pointing the baton to a great big chart
So we all knew when to play our part
The rhythm of life in Gaza today
Has naught to do with schoolrooms or play
It’s tapped on basins pots and pans
That starving children hold in their hands
Children line up in an orderly way
For food they beg day after day
Wondering how long they must wait
And how to digest this terrible fate
The music they hear is not pleasant or sweet
But made by bombs whining in the street
The roar of buildings crashing down
The screams of mothers - such awful sounds
The rhythm of life in Gaza today
Has naught to do with schoolrooms or play
It’s tapped on basins pots and pans
That starving children hold in their hands
They have no need of beater or stick
Their tears like rain fall just as thick
Their tears make the sound on begging bowls
Conductor grim reaper after their souls
Children drumming in Gaza today
Their tears rattle out the tune of our shame
Will they ever play tambourine
Or will they die in this war obscene?
The rhythm of life in Gaza today
Has naught to do with schoolrooms or play
It’s tapped on basins pots and pans
That starving children hold in their hands
Their stomachs are empty
Stretched tight as a drum
This is our fault
What have we become?
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