© Anne Hills

With no one to hold back the night
hearts of children are scattered in flight
a flock of tens of thousands
tossed in battles whirlwinds
their faces, their young eyes so bright

Where are the mothers to love
And the fathers who towered above
cut adrift from the family
lost and scared and hungry
and wounded in war like the dove

Chorus:    They are the orphans of heroes and martyrs
they are the children of war
and out of their mother’s and sweet father’s graves
grows a vine of rebellion whose flower they embrace

Caught in a crossfire of hate
they are standing at destiny’s gate
fortune’s little soldiers
with us for untold years
for freedom, for childhood they wait


Little faces. Little hands
suddenly abandoned
Little voices, little hearts
suddenly alone

But they fill up the dark with their song
hear their voices, honest and strong
listen how their sorrow reaches for tomorrow
searching for where they belong


They are the orphans of heroes and martyrs
and the future rests deep in their eyes
on the rim of their anger, in the salt of their tears
and in their dreams that light up the night skies

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