Parents of the Dead
1. Out on the streets we heard the blast, An explosion, then a commotion. A Palestinian iconoclast, Brain-dead with devotion. And in the aftermath the chill, As we took in amongst the kill, Our Sarah’s bloodied form lay still, In expelled animation. Chorus: We are the parents of the dead, The angry, innocent bereaved. Instead of hatred we share grief, No matter what our race or creed. 2. A rifle-shot, a ricochet, Farrago down in Gaza.…