An old world dies, devoured by fire.
Across it lies a fence of wire.
A mother turns, and wanders far,
Where brightly burns the morning star.
Her child at breast is not afraid
To lose the nest where once he played.
He dreams of life, of love, of peace,
When war and strife fore'er will cease.
So let us seek that dream so true
We CAN create the world anew.
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