In Guernica the dead children were
Layed out in order on the sidewalk
In their white starched dresses
In their pitiful white dresses
On their foreheads and breasts
The little round holes where death came
In as thunder while they were playing
Their important summer games
Do not weep for them, Madre
They are gone forever, the little ones
Straight to heaven to the saints
And God will fill the bullet holes with candy