Satyagraha (ip) or one hundread years on

They were the salt of the earth

Flowers grew now on the blood stained earth

Never again

Never again

Do not cast me out of heaven

To choke in gas and mud

Where now grows blades of grass

Flowers grow now on the blood stained earth

This fertile land is not made more fertile by slaughter

The animals do not make war

Do not cast me out of heaven

To choke in gas and mud

Where now grows blades of grass

Only man makes war

And then only a certain type

Those men of privilege who do not send their sons to die for scrapes of paper

Scrapes of land

My son will not die

For a New Jerusalem

I will teach him that Christ’s words of peace

Are for all men

And all men are equal before god

Who is neither an accountant nor minister of war or maker of weapons of mass destruction

Do not cast me out of heaven

To choke in gas and mud

Where now grows blades of grass

Rather a principle of peace and balance

And humans natural good humour

The man who lives at peace with the world

Who knows as in medieval times

He belongs to the land

Not the land to him

Do not cast me out of heaven

To choke in gas and mud

Where now grows blades of grass