I see dead bodies everywhere, blood and flesh

The stench of rotting flesh and rotten minds

And we want to save just our colour, or race.

If you ask the lamenting mother, who do you mourn?

Your child from Iran, or your daughter from India

Or the blue eyed son from Wild West?

And she with her calm but cold eyes looks at you

With disbelief and pain, the same pain that you

See on the faces of thousands of dead around.

She did not ask religion when they came to this world

She did not keep her milk and love for one race.

For her a boat carrying all her children is drowning tonight.