From heaven's gate, gleaming with a smile
the winged angel of death, sends cordial greetings
to meet children's dreamless eyes
From the land of the great, bearing stripes and stars
fly the blind torch bearers, to pluck out the whites of doves' eyes
Oh say can you see hopes of peace fleeing?
Dare you not question thy conscience, for whom or what
thy mighty hand is wrongly steering?
In the distance beneath the rubbles
sneaks out a child surrendering a cry to the world,
that while you were sleeping, a winged angel torched the blue skies over my house
and left my heart and pride bleeding.
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