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They're called Bui-Doi, The dust of life, Conceived in hell, and born in strife.
They are the living Reminder of all the good we failed to do.
We can't forget, must not forget, that they are all our children too.
Like all survivers I thought when I'm home I won't give a damn but now I know that I'm caught I'll never leave Vietnam.
War isn't over when it ends, some pictures never leave your mind.
They are the faces of our children, the ones we left behind.
They're called Bui-Doi, the dust of life.
Concieved in hell, and born in strife.
They are the living reminders of all the good we failed to do.
That's why we know, deep in our hearts that they are all our children too.
These kids hit walls on every side, they don't belong in any place.
I never thought one day i'd plead for half-breeds from a land that's torn.
But then I saw a camp for children who's crime was being born.
They're called Bui-Doi, the dust of life.
Concieved in hell, and born in strife.
We are their fathers and their family, a loving home they never knew.
Because we know deep in our hearts that they are all our children too.
These are souls in need.
They need us to give.
Someone has to pay for their chance to live.
Help me try.
They're called Bui-Doi, the dust of life.
Concieved in hell, and born in strife.
They are the living reminders of all the good we failed to do.
That's why we know (That's why we know), deep in our hearts (deep in our hearts) (That's why we know) that they are all our children too.