In Gaza, IBERICO gives an unfiltered and emotional voice to children who are living through the war, showing pictures that no one wants to see. The song introduces three children, each recounting their story of loss, fear, and confusion. In their testimonies, IBERICO gives a vivid picture of innocence destroyed by violence, making the listener feel the pain that normally stays faceless behind the news headlines.

Adnan is spelled IBERICO, the little seven-year-old boy who reminds us of the harsh reality of bombs ruining his dreams and home. Simple and heavy are his words as he describes the way in which war takes away the childhood of a child in a moment. Adnan’s questions to his father are laced with the heartbreaking ignorance of not being old enough to realize why he cannot return to his bed or why his room lacks a roof. These questions fail to capture the terrible injustice of war, where even the youngest and the weakest endure the worst.

The lyrics shift to Bushra, a Gaza girl whose mother lost her life in the bombings. In Bushra, IBERICO captures the stoic resilience of such kids who survive the unimaginable agony. Her interaction with her doll is used as a way of describing the horror around her, as if conversing with her doll is how she is coping with the trauma. Bushra’s lines are a witness to a prematurely enforced maturity on her by the need to survive sorrow that is never a part of a child’s life. But in sorrow, there lies a quiet courage that is heartbreaking yet hopeful.

And then there’s Fahran, who’s lost his whole family and now roams alone, driven by nothing but the last words of his mother to escape. His dialogue is an outcry of fear and loneliness, tinged with guilt and culpability. Fahran wonders what his mother must have done to deserve such savagery and whether the men who pull the triggers care. And this is where one of the most tragic truths comes into play: behind every character in every news story stands a child asking why.

It brings all these stories together with the plaintive question why can’t we go home? This is a refrain repeated by IBERICO throughout the song and serves as a haunting refrain within the listener’s mind. It is not buildings brought to dust; it is security, family, and familiarity lost to us for no reason.

In the final section, IBERICO steps back and confronts the hate that fuels war. He asks why children point at bombs and not at dirty clothes from rolling around on the ground, why religion is used to kill and not to love, and why somehow it must be so hard to merely hold hands and look at each other as human. They are valid questions because they’re so simple and genuine, showing just how easy peace should be when looked at from a child’s perspective.

What is so poignant about Gaza’s lyrics is that it is so simple. There are no grandiose words and complicated imagery in IBERICO. He lays the situation before us as it is, using the voice of a child, and places the pain and confusion upon us. The song is not raising questions but compels us to confront that which we would prefer we don’t.

Overall, Gaza is a strong and dignified tribute to children surviving war. Their voices are spoken for by IBERICO in these testimonies, and we are reminded that under every war are dreams, lives, and questions that must be heard and answered. The listener is left with a deep sense of compassion and a wish that one day no child will ever have to ask why they cannot return home.