Enola Gay

Look out, look out from your schoolroom window! Look up, young children, from your play! Wave your hand at the shining airplane, Such a beautiful sight is Enola Gay. High above the clouds in the sunlit silence, So peaceful here, I'd like to stay. There's many a pilot who'd swap his pension For a chance to fly Enola Gay. What is that sound high above my city? I rush outside and search the sky. Now we are running to find the shelters, Hearing sirens start to cry. What will I say when my children ask me, Where was I flying up on that day? With trembling voice I gave the order To the bombardier of Enola Gay. Look out, look out from your schoolroom window; Look up, young children, from your play. Your bright young eyes will turn to ashes In the blinding light of Enola Gay. I turn to see the fireball rising. "My God, My God," all I can say. I hear a voice within me crying, "My mother's name was Enola Gay." Look out, look out from your schoolroom window; Look up, young children, from your play. Oh, when you see the warplanes flying, Each one is named Enola Gay.