Death hue falling on the faces of the streets lost children as the mortar fire broken in. 
Nights cold, slipping through the cracks, 
Breaking through the cracks of [bad word] plaster. 
Hunger gnaws, I can feel its claws but the pain of a bullet would burn much hotter in the spot light, mounted on the cannon of the tank the prowls. 

Holy war, deliver me, rest my fear, I can not see. 

Nameless, but I know the faces of the kids I sleep in Jezebel's lair with. 
Thoughtless breaking my bread tween the mine fields flowers and gullies with daises. 
Some times I can find some rations that a solider let fall when the wind or life left him. 
Some times I can find a gun or a pistol or a knife to use. 

Holy war, deliver me, rest my fear, I can not see. 
My eyes are blind, my bodies lame, my families gone, in my god's name, Holy Wars. 

Nameless, faceless, but a tear or a dollar won't buy my justice. 
Fearless, clothed less then a war torn child should sleep or focus. 
Once I watched as a cannon slot fell through the stained glass window of a church on my street. 
Once I sat on a steeple now laying in the church yards playground. 

Holy war, deliver me, rest my fear, I can not see. 
My eyes are blind, my bodies lame, my families gone, in my god's name, Holy Wars.