What they heard sounded like Thunder
On a cloudless Sunny Day
And the children ran beneath their solace
Hiding from the rain
All the elders gathered and prayed
For at last there is now food for all the crops
And as motor-engines roared from up a distance
A New Land it is for the foreigners
Blood trickled out straw huts
Piercing Screams Muted by Machinery
High Caliber bullets tore on human flesh
Children falling dead on their faces
Letters to God unopened
Tears became adhesive to the folds
Sent in empty little packages
Nothing is really left for us to hold
There were only gunshots
Heard on a cloudless thunderous night
All the children are dead
And still we hid them from the rain

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