A plane flies low across the river, and all aboard know they are dead.
With annihilating impact, the tower is struck and lives snuffed out.
As the debris fell down on Fulton street, it was a dark and sticky red.
Flames leapt out as explosions ripped through walls of steel and glass.

Those trapped inside must decide to burn or to jump and be crushed.
Who could believe that these enormous towers would soon collapse?
Disbelieving such scenes of unfolding horror, the world is hushed.
Demolition, destruction, and everything is covered with volcanic ash.

People shouting, screaming, run for their lives in the dust and smoke.
Darkness, terror, sounds of immense weight on crumbling supports.
As they watched from the safety of the other shore, nobody spoke.
And all of this drama unfolded right before the lenses of the world.

There's no longer a good view from the one hundred and tenth floor.
They're dealing now with grief and tragedy down there on Wall Street.
Sirens sound as people move northwards through the scenes of war.
Stock markets are down, the telephones are down. Planes are down.

We share the shock as we listen and watch with those in Washington.
How can this have happened in the proclaimed centre of the free world?
Three passenger jets destroy the World Trade Towers and the Pentagon.
We hear that there can be no defence against such organised terrorism.

So we ground the aircraft and close the borders, due respects are shown.
They are looking for excuses, deciding who they can kill for their part.
Now the fighter jets are overhead, prepared to fire and down their own.
War has been waged but the perpetrators and leaders are not to be seen.

Spare a thought for all those killed on their escape from a higher floor.
What screaming fear, pain and horror did they suffer before the end?
Spare a thought for the many passengers and crew that fly no more.
What kind of frightened terror did they know on their way to die?

Let there be an end to this trade in tragedy.