Can you picture a little boy, dragging wood down the lane? 
Grandma waiting for him brother, playing outside in the rain 
Each day we hear the score, before not after shots of war 
And the road to him is love, but the love is never more 

Wishing it all to end 
enraged by the slaughtering 
thoughts explode like my heads a grenade and I drawed the pin 
talking to men with one choice [bad word] off or defend 
must punish the win, gotta let that gun off for ya kin 
the only laws is ‘no laws at all’ once it begins 
from the smell of blood violence is absorbed into their skin 
and the thoughts of kids caught up should torture people to death 
now freedoms with them see if them orphans see any sense 

Can you picture a little boy, dragging wood down the lane? 
Grandma waiting for him brother, playing outside in the rain 
Each day we hear the score, before not after shots of war 
And the road to him is love, but the love is never more 

Not all [bad word] pictures of war are drawn in the news 
so we painted a little more like George Gittoes do 
jaded because we didn't hear them [bad word] through 
how we'd savor our days if we had to walk in them shoes 
countries can't build without support for the youth 
they lost when their most important resources abused 
forming our views, and not picking up on the clues 
inner-city blues stop many from listening to the clues 
voices on mute, so we whisper this to you 
no time for school, many children be enlisted to be troops 
and we walk , thinking that the system got us screwed 
like we taught ,just to keep a short distance from the [bad word] 
when scores…are born only to be drifting to a noose 
where they gone well say , lord forgive we never knew 
gotta question why many, got there scriptures [bad word] 
and why spending on weapons and not assistance is [bad word]  

Can you picture a little boy, dragging wood down the lane? 
Grandma waiting for him brother, playing outside in the rain 
Each day we hear the score, before not after shots of war 
And the road to him is love, but the love is never more 

We're caught up in the pictures that they have shown us 
and not the millions of innocents that been blown up 
cold hearts disconnecting us from our own blood 
for their objectives its best that they blindfold us 

Can you picture a little boy, dragging wood down the lane? 
Grandma waiting for him brother, playing outside in the rain 

We're caught up in the pictures that they have shown us 
and not the millions of innocents that been blown up 
cold hearts disconnecting us from our own blood 
for their objectives its best that they blindfold us 

Can you picture a little boy, dragging wood down the lane? 
Grandma waiting for him brother, playing outside in the rain