When I hear violent rhetoric
For the liberation of X, Y or Z
And see what is being done,
And what is being said
I wonder what events will show
At the end of this rainbow
True, sometimes the status quo,
Does not lead where we want to go
But what you may have in store,
May be much worse than before
Feasts and celebrations in the past,
Skulls and bones dug up at last
When the shouting's over, we'll hear,
Again the whisper of our fear
When the time comes to count the cost,
To reckon what was won and what was lost
From those who are left, we may hear a sigh
For the good old days gone by
So if you breathe fire and your blood is red
Write down how many you want to see dead
How many eyes you want to blind
On your way to being kind
How many widows, you will make
Leave how many orphans in your wake
How many cuts you want in the heart
Before you blow the world apart
And then in spiritual calm
In the eye of the storm
See if there is another way
For you to have your say.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem