Tiny Fists

I subscribe to these social constraints They make me a very careful man Yet, if my heart were to freely speak, It would say, "Your politics, be damned" It would shout at your houses and government buildings, your churches and your meetings And in the voices of a hundred thousand children, whose heartbreak you ignore Because their skin, their religion, their nationality, their heritage are not the same as yours It would shout this awful reminder from your podiums, your altars, and your doors: Tiny feet have never run To conquer someone's land Tiny hands can't shoot a gun At those they don't understand Tiny fists can't break down doors To take away your wealth Tiny babies don't wage war For that we must blame ourselves