The Box

Once upon a time in the land of Hushabye Around about the wondrous days of yore I came across a sort of box Bound up with chains and locked with locks And labeled kindly do not touch; it's war Decree was issued 'round about All with a flourish and a shout And a gaily colored mascot tripping lightly on before Don't fiddle with this deadly box, or break the chains, or pick the locks And please, don't ever play about with war Well, the children understood Children happen to be good They were just as good around the time of yore They didn't try to pick the locks, or break into that deadly box They never tried to play about with war Mummies didn't either Sisters, aunts, grannies neither Cause they were quiet, and sweet, and pretty in those wondrous days of yore Well, very much the same as now, not the ones to blame somehow For opening up that deadly box of war But someone did Someone battered in the lid And spilled the insides out across the floor A sort of bouncy, bumpy ball made up of guns and flags And all the tears, and horror, and the death that goes with war It bounced right out And went bashing all about And bumping into everything and stored And what was sad and most unfair is that it didn't seem to care who much it bumped Or why, or what, or for It bumped the children mainly And I'll tell you this quite plainly It bumps them every day, and more and more, and leaves them dead and burned and dying Thousands of them sick and crying Cause when it bumps, it's really very sore Now, there's a way to stop the ball It isn't difficult at all All it takes is wisdom; I'm absolutely sure that we could get it back into the box And bind the chains and lock the locks No one seems to want to save the children any more Well, that's the way it all appears Cause it's been bouncing 'round for years and years In spite of all the wisdom since those wondrous days of yore And the time they came across the box Bound up with chains and locked with locks And labeled "kindly do not touch, it's war"