By Scott Bailey © 2014

The blood of a million children
Is heavy in my hands
Slipping through my fingers
Like eternal sands

Not the consequence of acting
But the consequence of not
A stain upon my conscience
And ever-growing blot

So I consume and I create
And so I spend and save
Consumer and producer
But I never gave

The hand that should have proffered
Is stained with guilty red
The reproaching cry from beyond
Of the wasted dead

So my heart is heavy
With echoes of that cry
If you believe of guilt you’re free
Look me in the eye