MODRH
She Makes War
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In this city of dead women
Breezes blow subdued
People run from the night stalker
Hiding sordid truths
May our daughters return home
May our daughters return home
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It's cold in the desert
Pink crosses fly
Advertising the absence
Of a young girl's life
Pale hearts and quiet bodies
Mothers fight and cry
No-one told you
But they are all our daughters too