Rain comes down - and off comes people's hair.
In this great world live our hope, our beauty - Little children, needing love and care. From a handful of white seaside sand, From a cloud that wayward winds may bring, From both bread and water- who will save Little children, with their tender skin. Marked by atoms, play upon this globe Little children - on this globe impure. In this world, eroded by pollution, Little children have to live and grow. The rain-soaked cabins of our fathers Seem birds that have not flown away.