We cradle in our arms your terror, the soldiers that you fight.
Disguised as our children, they starve. Behold your enemy.

Ringed around the village of the brazen infidel
As their eyes sink in, you can feel your muscles swell.
Catapults throw hunger into bellies brave and small
While Kings discuss the benefits in laden banquet halls.

In Mosul in northern Iraq s no fly zone, we saw flocks of sheep
Which had been blasted to eternity with the small child shepherds
Who tended them. No other targets in sight.

You cradle in your arms the terror that will bring the
Ceiling down.
Crashing on your children, the harvest of this seed.

In Mosul where Jonah rests the sheep were waging war.
They dared to raise their eyes when the planes above them roared.
On the sands of Babylon we lay down and wept.
Morning light on you! Oh, vengeance we expect.