Children shed such sweet blood
Well, all seven of mine did.
By sweet, I mean innocent, pure
and protected
It spreads evenly
Never too thick or thin
They must want to die more
the younger they are
The skin of a baby is willing to yield
to a knife and waiting
to be burst by the blows of
Two by Four
The skin of an older child is reluctant
to be set in a coffin
Not wanting to return
to the			Maker
Babies love		Him more
I help them on their way
I'll be yielded as a saint in Paradise
Oh, to meet		Him and
welcome		        His thanks
Yes, I'll help some more children
And then,
And then, I'll meet
                        Him.