Soft sand, the gentle rush of salted tidal wash,
A summer's day for children to happily play.
The sky so innocently true blue,
As a lifeless loved son floats up gently,
To rest on that soft sandy bed in saintly manner,
In sweet blue shorts, brown shoes and his red T-shirt.
Face down, as though sleeping, not even looking hurt.
Hopefully being held close to an angel's heart,
But still a sacrifice for all our sleeping souls.
So where are you now, Mr Blair, where are you now ?
As a dead child is washed up on to a distant Turkish beach.
I guess, completely out of anyone's reach.
 
Let the soldier cradle the tiny youngster now. 
Carry him away whilst you wipe your brow.
Do we point to Bush and Cheney too.
For did you all now think this all through?
 
No doubt the devil is enjoying his time with you.
So pray to god, together, and our children too.
We all can see through our television screens, the image of your Armageddon.
Simplified to a form of a part-time soldiers job, to cradle such a little son.
 
So cry - No, not me, I am not the one.
It is the Evil ones you should condemn.
I am innocent of nothing but taking the fight to them.
Why not blame Cameron now for he turned away.
And all those that came after, too weak pray.
 
And what of those crazed by some unexplainable force.
Slaughtering all living as they set mankind on a savage course.
They all pray too and many times for you.
All in the name of a selfish sainthood.
All with wilful justification to spill another man's blood.
 
Dear little one, look down on us all with your innocence.
From ascendency, please show us your saintly form of deliverance.
From the evil we all seem too close to now,
To the freedom and sanctuary you sought to go,
In a fragile boat that took you to your deathly screams.
For all you sought was to be on the safer side of that television screen.