Each Small Candle Roger Waters

Not the torturer will scare me
Nor the body's final fall
Nor the barrels of death's rifles
Nor the shadows on the wall
Nor the night when to the ground
The last dim star of pain, is hurled
But the blind indifference
Of a merciless unfeeling world

Lying in the burnt out shell
Of some Albanian farm
An old Babushka
Holds a crying baby in her arms
A soldier from the other side
A man of heart and pride
Breaks ranks, lays down his rifle
And kneels by her side

He gives her food
He binds her wounds
And calms the crying child
A touch gives absolution then
Across the great divide
He picks his way back through
The broken China of her life
And there at the curb
The samaritan Serb
Turns and waves goodbye