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GUEST,Len Wallace Lyr Req: songs for the tragedy, Sept. 11 (18) Lyr Add: SEPTEMBER 11 (Len Wallace) 18 Sep 01

Less than one week ago a child in Northern Ireland was killed in the clash between Protestants and Catholics. Yesterday the murderous horror from the skies in the United States. Meanwhile revelations grow each month over the trained death squads and their reign of terror against innocent people. Today a Moslem mosque was firebombed in Montreal, Quebec. The bombing of the World Trade Centre comes upon the anniversary of the last broadcast by former Chilean President Salvador Allende's last speech before his murder by the Chilean military with U.S. complicity. It is all the same, be it New York, Washington, Santiago, Kosovo, Belfast, here or wherever. This song was written from a sense of sadness and anger as I watched the events of September 11.

SEPTEMBER 11 (music and words by Len Wallace)

I saw the news this morning
a tower all in in flames
I saw the ones about to die,
I didn't know their names.
I watched the screen in disbelief,
an unbelieving eye.
The questions come into my mind
for who, for what, for why?

Terror is an ugly word
for an ugly hateful hate.
Terror of the madmen
or terror of the State.
Terror from the death squads
or terror from the skies.
No matter where, no matter when
it's the innocents who die.

And the sadness grows, the sadness grows.

A pipe bomb kills a Belfast child
on her way to school.
The plane crashed into a tower
by a willing fool.
Napalm raining from the skies
for all the world to see.
Dimensions of the madness
are all the same to me.

And the sadness grows, the sadness grows.

From the one who hides behind a desk
to the one behind the gun,
From the one who hides behind a mask
in the hateful deed that's done,
From the one who give the orders
and justifies decrees
to the one who pulls the trigger,
just a matter of degrees.

And the sadness grows, the sadness grows.

The war that's over there
is the war that's brought to home
To reap a bitter harvest
from the seeds that we have sewn.
For religion, dogma, bits of flag
and the things for which men kill,
For the lies that divide us
I'll say I've had my fill.

And the sadness grows, the sadness grows.
The sadness grows, oh the sadness grows.

copyright, Len Wallace September 11, 2001

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