They're called Bredoi, the dust of life, conceived in hell and born in strife. They are the living reminder of all the good we fail to do. We can forget, must not forget, that they are all our children too. Like all survivors, I once thought, when I'm home, I won't give a damn. But now I know 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 the children, the ones we left behind. They're called Bredoi, the dust of life, conceived in hell and born in strife. They are the living reminder of all the good we fail to do. We can't forget, must not forget, that they are all our children too. These kids hit walls on every side that don't belong in any place. Their secret they can't hide, it's printed on their face. 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 whose crime was being born. They're called Bredoi, the dust of life, conceived in hell and born in strife. We owe them fathers and a family, a loving home they never knew. Because we know deep in our hearts that they are all our children too. These are souls indeed, they need us to give. Someone has to pay for their chance to live. They're called Bredoi, the dust of life, conceived in hell and born in strife. They are the living reminder of all the good we fail to do. That's why we know deep in our hearts that they are all our children too. Thank you.