He wields his flute with an expert hand | |
And then, all too soon | |
The dancing stops and the children stand | |
The piper calls the tune. | |
He holds their future in his palm | |
An old and powerful man | |
With missiles poised and bombs at hand | |
They wait for his command. | |
With songs of fear and bigotry | |
A cruel, hypnotic sound | |
He plays his last tune greedily | |
And strikes the children down. |