we are the houses which take the drops . . . we whistle beneath many drones.
Our children look up and wonder on high as they nurse on their cold ice cream cones
We are the people who've long lived right here You are the people who gnaw us
a war is a war is a war is a war but . . . would you hate us if ever you saw us?
Our children they learn and chase pets in the street Just the same as your's do at play
They drink up their milk and they chew sticks of meat and they long to have great things to say.
and you . . . sit up there with your eyes in the sky and you . . . are at war with our face.
we might have started it. or you might have traipsed. Eitherway we're in deep need of grace.