The naked, starving parents with no longer any hope.
Who would long ago have hung themselves, but couldn't buy the rope.
Who have turned upon themselves because they cannot reach the foe.
And strangle on the thousand things we will not let them know.
For we cut the corners, save the dollars
Never mind the babies that founder in the squalor
And just close our hearts when we hear the crying
Our children are dying.
Three crushed and bleeding family's, with no bath in two small rooms,
Where, in the winter, there's no heat. Eight children now. Another soon.
Five faces scrubbed, they run away, to find their lessons in the school.
To learn a life they cannot lead. To learn, by rote, the Golden Rule.
For we cut the corners. Save the dollars
Never mind the babies that founder in the squalor
And just close our hearts when we hear the crying.
Our children are dying.
With eager, awkward minds at first, they try to win the teacher's heart.
And, though the teacher tries so hard, forty loves have no chance to start.
And soon the children know the rules. There's no time for love, only time for fear.
The funeral starts here.
For we cut the corners, save the dollars!
Never mind the babies that founder in the squalor
And just close our hearts when we hear the crying.
Our children are dying...
Our children are dying...
Our children are dying...
Our children...
Who would long ago have hung themselves, but couldn't buy the rope.
Who have turned upon themselves because they cannot reach the foe.
And strangle on the thousand things we will not let them know.
For we cut the corners, save the dollars
Never mind the babies that founder in the squalor
And just close our hearts when we hear the crying
Our children are dying.
Three crushed and bleeding family's, with no bath in two small rooms,
Where, in the winter, there's no heat. Eight children now. Another soon.
Five faces scrubbed, they run away, to find their lessons in the school.
To learn a life they cannot lead. To learn, by rote, the Golden Rule.
For we cut the corners. Save the dollars
Never mind the babies that founder in the squalor
And just close our hearts when we hear the crying.
Our children are dying.
With eager, awkward minds at first, they try to win the teacher's heart.
And, though the teacher tries so hard, forty loves have no chance to start.
And soon the children know the rules. There's no time for love, only time for fear.
The funeral starts here.
For we cut the corners, save the dollars!
Never mind the babies that founder in the squalor
And just close our hearts when we hear the crying.
Our children are dying...
Our children are dying...
Our children are dying...
Our children...
envoyé par giorgio - 8/6/2009 - 12:42
×
![]()
Words & music by Thom Parrott
Album: Many Windowed Night [1968]