Among the living
A. Malotte
Sleep, my little one, try to sleep.
Though noise of war keep us awake
And tortured minds are ready to break -
Sleep, my little one, try to sleep.
Hush, my little one, do not cry.
Though birds of death are in the sky
And men below will suffer and die -
Hush my little one, do not cry.
When will it end? O that I knew!
What will become of babies like you?