Enola Gay

	  		
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Look out, look out from your schoolroom window! 
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Look up, young children, from your play! 
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Wave your hand at the shining airplane, 
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Such a beautiful sight is Enola Gay. 

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High above the clouds in the sunlit silence, 
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So peaceful here, I'd like to stay. 
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There's many a pilot who'd swap his pension 
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For a chance to fly Enola Gay. 

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What is that sound high above my city? 
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I rush outside and search the sky. 
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Now we are running to find the shelters, 
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Hearing sirens start to cry. 

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What will I say when my children ask me, 
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Where was I flying up on that day? 
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With trembling voice I gave the order 
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To the bombardier of Enola Gay. 

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Look out, look out from your schoolroom window; 
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Look up, young children, from your play. 
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Your bright young eyes will turn to ashes 
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In the blinding light of Enola Gay. 

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I turn to see the fireball rising. 
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"My God, My God," all I can say. 
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I hear a voice within me crying, 
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"My mother's name was Enola Gay." 

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Look out, look out from your schoolroom window; 
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Look up, young children, from your play. 
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Oh, when you see the warplanes flying, 
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Each one is named Enola Gay.