Tragedy under the crescent moon

Come listen to the story
You’ll never hear of on the news,


Come and see the tragedy
Under the crescent moon.

Outside Dogo Nahawa
Gathered a mob in white,

And those who only pass their mosque
Didn’t see the guns inside.

They didn’t know
Of the freshly sharpened machetes

That would soon be their demise.

The air was calm and cool
As the sun went down that night,

And soon enough that crescent moon
Made its awful rise,

And with it arose an awful shout
“Allahu akbar!”

The first shots rang out.

Houses were turned to ashes
With families locked inside,

A mother ran with her children
On her back and at her side,

Three hacks from a machete
And both of them were gone


The time before she too was killed
Wasn’t very long.

The men could only cover
Their children and their wives

Oh how many fathers
Were the first to lose their lives?

Many ran inside the church
They said “The stones won’t burn!”

But once the windows had been broken through,
Grenades and bullets went flying through.

Hundreds of little children
Were kidnapped, killed, and maimed.

Little Naomi
Ran through the bloody streets,

Screaming for her mother
To put severed ears in place.

Five hundred Christians
Were killed by the Muslim gang,

There were only twenty left

Above ten years of age.

That was March two-thousand-ten,
But not much has changed.

It is a sad reality,
But it happens every day.