War Struck

Pitch black clouds loom above my head
As I roam the dark streets I had once fled
There is nothing left of what was a small town
Now blown to pieces lying all over the ground

A state of anarchy I wish I never saw
Raging madmen breaking the law
Women and children suffering in pain
Others lay motionless,others slain

A war stricken country I hate to call my own
Bombed out buildings and piles of stone
The small of the dead, hangs in the air
As I fall to my knees and chant a prayer

I pray for the living, the ill and the dead
And pray for myself and the future ahead
May my children's life be nothing like past times
And may all the filthy sinners go to hell for all their crimes