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He is part of guerilla warfare he is eleven years of age

He will never have a protected youth his education consists of rage

He is marching through Colombian rainforests

African jungles or Cambodian rice fields

Killing soldiers more than twice his age using trees as natural shields

He playground is a battlefield his playmates are hunted men

We worry about what we have for dinner tonight he hopes to make it till then

These little soldiers of war

Playing with fire

But do they really understand what they’re fighting for?

Tiny soldiers of war

Playing with fire

But do they really understand…puberty might be inaccessible

His mom and dad were killed by the army he saw it

With his own two eyes

So every uniform looks suspicious to him being

Prejudiced is then a logical vice

You cannot compare our worst memories with the

Things this boy has seen

The only toy he ever played with is  huge M-19

An eleven year old freedom fighter living

Unimaginably wild

But ask him what he wants out of life he’ll probably

Say I’d like to be a child

Light flashes all around the screaming of the mutilated sets your teeth on edge

The ground is covered with dead witnesses of another bloody armed conflict

Farmers housewives lawyers and children dying for the people

How can democracy be of such vital interest that ten year olds die for it

It’s lunacy pushed to extremes