Foreign homeland

What good is it, to return home to a foreign land?

One where it's people's blood has stained the sand,

What good is a freed bird?

If it has forgotten how to fly,

now crippled,

cursed to dream of clear blue skies,

Who will comfort the mother that yearns for her dying son?

Wipe the tears of the child that cries for his martyred Father?

Who will remember not numbers but names?,

Who will return the blood that now stains?,

Who will comfort the mother who's tears testify her loss?

Who will embrace the child that now burdens a life that once was?

Who pays for the lives lost and stolen dreams?,

Who is left to water these olive trees?,

Who will be questioned?

How long will we wait?

How many now are at heaven's gates?

How many more lives are needed for you and I to awake?

Surely these unanswered questions make the heavens shake.

Soon will our Lord trial mad men for there cruel mistakes.