| Lyrics: | Once upon a time, in the land of Hush-A-Bye, around about the wondrous days of yore, they came
across a kind of box, bound up with chains and locked with locks and labeled "Kindly do not touch;
it's war."
A decree was issued round about, and all with a flourish and a shout and a
gaily-colored mascot tripping lightly on before. Don't fiddle with this deadly box, or break the
chains, or pick the locks. And please don't ever play about with war.
The children
understood. Children happen to be good and they were just as good around the time of yore. They
didn't try to pick the locks or break into that deadly box. They never tried to play about with war.
Mommies didn't either; sisters, aunts, grannies neither. They were quiet, and sweet, and pretty in
those wondrous days of yore. Well, very much the same as now, not the ones to blame somehow for
opening up that deadly box of war.
But someone did. Someone battered in the lid and spilled
the insides out across the floor. A kind of bouncy, bumpy ball made up of guns and flags and all the
tears, and horror, and death that comes with war. It bounced right out and went bashing all about,
bumping into everything in store. And what was sad and most unfair was that it didn't really seem to
care much who it bumped, or why, or what, or for.
It bumped the children mainly. And I'll
tell you this quite plainly, it bumps them every day and more, and more, and leaves them dead, and
burned, and dying, thousands of them sick and crying. Cause when it bumps, it's really very
sore.
Now there's a way to stop the ball. It isn't difficult at all. All it takes is
wisdom, and I'm absolutely sure that we can get it back into the box, and bind the chains, and lock
the locks. But no one seems to want to save the children anymore.
Well, that's the way it
all appears, cause it's been |
