| The world is fast becoming younger
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| The news is all they’ve ever known
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| They’ve seen the wars, the hurt, the hunger
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| How will they choose when they are grown
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| What do you tell forever’s children
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| When it’s their turn to hurt and heal
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| Whatever spins a grim tornedo
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| Can also turn a potters wheel
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| Take a little clay
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| Put it on a wheel
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| Get a little hint
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| How God must feel
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| Give a little turn
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| Listen to a spin
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| Make it into the shape
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| You want it in
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| Tell with your life the bloody story
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| Teach to they’re dreams not burning steel
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| It’s not in bombs where lies the glory
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| But in what’s shattered on the field
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| The potter’s wheel takes love and caring
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| Skill and patience fast and slow
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| The works it makes are easily broken
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| Once they survive the potter’s throw
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| Take a little clay
|
| Put it on a wheel
|
| Get a little hint
|
| How God must feel
|
| Give a little turn
|
| Listen to a spin
|
| Make it into the shape
|
| You want it in
|
| Some day some children will be digging
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| In some long forgotten ground
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| And they’ll find our civilisation
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| Or what’s left of it to be found
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| They’ll find the weapons of destruction
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| But buried deeper in the hole
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| They’ll find a message and a promise
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| In the sand, the potter’s bowl
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| Take a little clay
|
| Put it on a wheel
|
| Get a little hint
|
| How God must feel
|
| Give a little turn
|
| Listen to a spin
|
| Make it into the shape
|
| You want it in
|
| Earth and fire and wind conspire
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| With human hands, and love, and fire |