A Boy With a Piece of String
I’m a boy with a piece of string
My left hand holds it tight
I can only use my left hand
As I’m busy with the right
I could maybe make a slingshot
From this dirty piece of twine
But I probably shouldn’t do this
As the string it isn’t mine
So instead I sit and ponder
Just what I’m doing here
I sit and hold the piece of string
I dare not move because of fear
I’m told my job’s to sit here
With my left hand on the cord
I do it cause I’m frightened
Much more frightened than I’m bored
A yoyo could be lots of fun
Except for just one thing
I’ve no time to find or carve the wood
So I’ve only got the string
My left hands on the piece of string
Which is awkward if I cough
Cause my right hand which is busy
Holds a Kalashnikov
The sting is not a playful toy
It has become an airports gate
My father used to sit here
Till he was slaughtered by the hate
One time I saw a kitten teased
With just this kind of thread
He dance around of hours
As it was dangled near his head
I watch the UN workers
Bring supplies and off load planes
I hope they try and help us
But it will never be the same
I’ve seen so many soldiers
I’ve seen what soldiers do
I’ve seen Hutu killing Tutsi
And Tutsi kill Hutus
The string could be a bracelet
And I could make some simple charms
Then give it to my sweetheart
Who could wear it on her arm
I’ve seen string be used as hand cuffs
And it’s been fashioned as a whip
Or wrapped around a dagger
To help improve the grip
Hutu Tutsi KILL KILL KILL
The blood if flowing, the screams are shrill
Silence follows, but my ears still ring
While I sit here with this piece of string
I could make a model airplane
And use the piece of string
To hold it all together
Or to help support the wing
Last year I turned 11
I played games and it was fun
This year I turned adult
And I sit here with this gun
I’m supposed to guard the airport
But I’m twelve and there’s the thing
I’m not a soldier or assassin
I’m just a boy with a piece of string