| Not the torturer will scare me Nor the body’s final fall
|
| Nor the barrels of death’s rifles
|
| Nor the shadows on the wall
|
| Nor the night when to the ground
|
| The last dim star of pain, is hurled
|
| But the blind indifference
|
| Of a merciless, unfeeling world
|
| Lying in the burnt out shell
|
| Of some Albanian farm
|
| An old Babushka
|
| Holds a crying baby in her arms
|
| A soldier from the other side
|
| A man of heart and pride
|
| Breaks ranks, lays down his rifle
|
| To kneel by her side
|
| He gives her water
|
| Binds her wounds
|
| And calms the crying child
|
| A touch gives absolution then
|
| Across the great divide
|
| He picks his way back through the broken
|
| China of her life
|
| And there at the curb
|
| The samaritan Serb turns and waves … goodbye
|
| And each small candle
|
| Lights a corner of the dark
|
| Each small candle
|
| Lights a corner of the dark
|
| Each small candle lights a corner of the dark
|
| When the wheel of pain stops turning
|
| And the branding iron stops burning
|
| When the children can be children
|
| When the desperados weaken
|
| When the tide rolls into greet them
|
| And the natural law of science
|
| Greets the humble and the mighty
|
| And the billion candles burning
|
| Lights the dark side of every human mind
|
| Each small candle
|
| Each small candle (repeated)
|
| Each small candles lights the dark side of every human mind
|
| And each small candle
|
| Lights a corner of the dark |