the cranberries
war child
Who will save the warchild baby Who controls the key? The web we weave is thick and sorbid Fine by me At times of war we're all losers There's no victory We shoot and kill and kill your lover Fine by me Warchild, victim of political pride Plant the seed, territorial greed Mind the warchild, we should mind the warchild I spent last winter in New York and came upon a man He was sleeping on the streets and homeless He said "I fought in Vietnam" Beneath his shirt he wore his mark, he bore the mark of pride A two inch deep incision, carved into his side