Sometimes in Srebrenica

It might be a city of paradise in Bosnia, Its memories are as fragile as a vase The horrors and tears stained on the canvas of time And it's something that no one forgets. With a child snatched from his mother, Begging her to pray for his soul As fear ascends like a dark cloud Standing in line and awaitng the bullet of death. Why does it always hurt us much? Hatred with all in the name of religion, We deserve to live as equals And always pledge to "Never Again."