| The boys, the girls,
|
| They’re just playing in the playgrounds.
|
| Not a care in the world,
|
| There’s blood on our hands.
|
| What would you do?
|
| For the disappointed youth.
|
| What would you do?
|
| Tell them truth.
|
| What would you say,
|
| When the children ask you,
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| 'Why do we pray,
|
| Is there nothing else we can do?'
|
| Myth of a nation, illusion of relations.
|
| Every time a childhood dies,
|
| You tell The Noble Lie.
|
| Stable societies,
|
| Have gone awry.
|
| An adult born every time,
|
| You tell The Noble Lie.
|
| The boys, the girls,
|
| They’re just playing in the playgrounds.
|
| Not a care in the world,
|
| There’s blood on our hands.
|
| The boys, the girls,
|
| They’re just playing in the playgrounds.
|
| Not a care in the world,
|
| There’s blood on our hands.
|
| Sweet dreams darling, having fun.
|
| Just remember what we have done.
|
| The disappointment hangs in the air,
|
| The storm is coming, the storm is coming, dear.
|
| Sweet dreams darling, having fun.
|
| Just remember what we have done.
|
| The disappointment hangs in the air,
|
| The storm is coming, the storm is coming, dear.
|
| The storm is coming, the storm is coming, dear.
|
| Sweet dreams darling, having fun.
|
| Just remember what we have done.
|
| The disappointment hangs in the air,
|
| The storm is coming, the storm is coming, dear. |