Come, little dove, spread your wings,
Protect my child from the whims of kings.
Come, all saints, and spread your arms,
Keep my child safe from harm.
He doesn’t know that the glamour will fade
With his best friend lying red in the rain.
He doesn’t understand that to kill and die
Is not a noble act, but a cruel lie.
And when it is he lying cold in the ground,
Nothing will have meaning but the lonesome sound
Of the wind through cemetery grass.
So please, my God, keep the Peace
Do not the hounds of death release.
Bitter kings, forget your pride,
Keep my child by my side.