It's happened again!
The black cloud of terror,
on the news at ten.
This time it's artists,
Of a creative nature
Drawing pictures that make
some say 'I hate ya!'
Twelve more lost
in this futile war
where only hate wins
each day more and more.
I keep trying to love,
trying to say,
STOP! this killing,
hate cannot pay,
but I'm shouting at stones,
hitting a brick wall,
what I have to say
makes no difference at all.
So instead I cry tears,
they run down my cheek,
I cannot help thinking,
the future is bleak.
So the tears will still fall,
wetting the page,
and love shivers in me,
an inescapable cage.
I want to roar at the sun,
beat the earth to the ground,
but my feeble attempts
are ignored all round.
God's abandoned us here,
here with this stuff,
this hate and this fear,
can these tears be enough?
They're an expression of grief,
and therefore of care,
without these tears,
love isn't there,
so I will cry at this wrong,
I will cry at this hate,
for while tears fall,
it is not too late.
By this they will know you,
that you love and still love
when you are abandoned
and there's no heaven above.
It is in moments like these,
when hate seems to have won
when the tears are falling
and love is undone
that hope remembers,
that faith still lives on,
so we can keep going,
we can still cling on.
