Once upon a time in the land of Hush-a-bye, about the wondrous
days of Yore, I came across a sort of box, bound up with chains
and locked with locks and labelled, "Kindly do not touch, it's War".

The creed was issued round about, all with a flourish and a shout
and a gayly coloured mascot tripping lightly on before. "Don't
fiddle with this deadly box or break the chains or pick the locks and
please don't ever play about with war".

The children understood, the children happened to be good. They were just
as good around the time of Yore. They didn't try to pick the locks or
break into that deadly box. They never tried to play about with war.

Mummies didn't either, sisters, aunts, grannies neither cause they were
quiet, sweet and good in those wondrous days of Yore. Very much the
same as now, not the ones to blame somehow for opening up that deadly
box of Yore.

But someone did! Someone battered in the lid and spilled the insides
out across the floor. A sort of bouncy, bumpy ball made up of
guns and flags and all the tears and horror and the death that goes
with war.

It bounced right out and went bashing all about and bumping into
everything it saw and what was sad and most unfair is that it didn't
really seem to care much who it bumped or why or what or for.

It bumped the children mainly and I'll tell you this quite plainly
it bumped some everyday and more and more and leaves them dead and
burned and dying, thousands of them sick and crying cause when it
bumps it's really very sore.

Now there's a way to stop the ball it isn't difficult at all. All
it takes is wisdom and I'm absolutely sure that we could get it back
into the box and bind the chains and lock the locks but no-one seems
to want to save the children anymore.

Well that's the way it all appears, cause it's been bouncying round
for years and years in spite of all the wisdom wiz since those
wondrous days of Yore and the time they came across the box bound
up with chains and locked with locks and labelled "Kindly do not touch,
it's War".