© J.A. Storey -Taylor 23/11/2002

How sad to hear the sound of guns

Beneath the olive tree.

To hear the lustful cries for blood

That will spill to mingle with the mud, and

To know the persecuted flee

Before a mindless killing spree

Beneath the olive tree.

How sad, for some, the sand fast runs

Beneath the olive tree.

A bullet aimed can't be withstood

And a single voice achieves no good,

But breaks to heed the piteous pleas

As, trapped, the preyed fall to their knees

Beneath the olive tree.

Token of love and peace,

Broken by trigger's release,

Beneath the olive tree,

Beneath the olive tree…

How sad, the Grace the killer shuns

Beneath the olive tree.

'Tis his own heart shall fill the shroud

Yet, far from shamed, the man stands proud.

His song of triumph filled with glee,

Makes of love a mockery,

Beneath the olive tree.

How sad, the widows and orphans,

Beneath the olive tree,

Who know not fruit, but hate shall bud

With bitter taste where olive should

Betoken harmony and peace

And witness that such madness cease,

Beneath the olive tree.

Beneath the olive tree….

Share on Facebook
Share on Twitter
Share via e-mail
Share on Stumble Upon
Share on Google Bookmarks
Share on Digg