When upon the world of men I think,
Its tender love, its lust for power,
A disturbing, mingled cup I drink
With tastes both sweet and bitterly sour.
A child’s laughter, whilst joy most bright,
Is lost in the staccato burst of gun
And innocence is damaged by the blight
Of injustice and gain corruptly won.
Then dark thoughts oppress and sadden,
That we who on this blue planet live,
Each other so callously burden
Taking much more than we ever give.
The horror of sharing this miracle of life
And wasting it in division and murderous strife.