Oh bring colour to the desert where gardens never grew and make the sun shine for those who have cried in silence for years .

War is the produce of seeds sewn in anger and many weeds now have been grown on wastelands watered by millions of tears .

Its always the same in a place where blame is like a submarine not allowed to surface and flowers never dance in the rain .

Soldiers , journalists, cameramen , are lined up on the streets of Iraq , waiting to see the faces of their loved ones again .

The erosion of years have seen oceans of tears capsize Baghdad but a boat’s about to set sail across the seven seas .

Barack bring them back from Iraq to their corners of the Earth where love can welcome them home with no more terrorists to seize .

On a fair wind to a safe harbour they come with memories like thunder to keep them company in the sunshine of the day .

Now is the time to rescue the life that is left and give rest to those weary workers there who for too long have been away .


By Paul McCann