poetic scribble by Bob Axell 2008
They won't leave!
They won't leave me alone!
They won't go!
They won't go away!
They want my money
They want my mommy
They want my paper
They want my pappa
They said they'd come later
They said they'll rape her
So I'll be waiting here sir
With this shotgun in my tiny hands
And blow them away to far away lands
Blow their brains out over our distant sands
I hope the saints are with me, watching me
Over the bloodsoaked walls of Palestine
Over the bloodstained grails of hope