NO PLACE FOR CHILDREN
Written by Dan Masters/ recorded by Rik Barron

I read in The Times—that's a paper that counts—
'Bout a war in a place, that I can't pronounce.
Where the men designed bombs, that look just like toys.
They blow off the arms of four-year-old boys.

CHORUS: Quick God, come here yourself, Don't send Jesus, your son,
'Cos this place ain't no place for children to come.
They cry their eyes blind till they can't see the sun.
Well, this place ain't no place for children.... to come.

I know a nurse who worked for babies no older than three.
Each carries the curse that they call HIV.
In the earthly birth from their mothers they're torn.
Now I know why they cry when they're born.

A long time ago, in a heavenly plan,
You sent us your son - Look what we did to him.
We turned the Garden of Eden to a desert bone dry,
But the one thing that grows, is the number who die.

It's four in the morning, I stare at my TV (semi-spoken)
At a hungry-eyed child, who stares back at me
From a land where the leaders all wish he was dead
Grown men who think bullets are better than bread

Well I dreamed I met Peter at the heavenly gate
He said "Go straight to hell - you're to blame for the fate
Of the children who suffered, and the children who died
'Cos you let it happen when you were alive