See how the Tutsi sleep dead in heaps and still they lie there where they die. Too many for the census takers, calculators, estimators. Too many for the senses to take. Hear our silence serenade the merciless raid. The order's called. The triggers pulled. The flash, the bang, the flesh explodes. and in the air the smell still hangs of a rotting sweetness in churches and streets. wreaking our futures bleakness Touch the ground unsettled ground desecration abound There are more bodies than bullet shells stabbing children snapping thier necks. Save the bullets for mom and dad. Kids are easier to kill.