Suffering

Suffering

By Black-Horse

Moans of millions of heads
Waiting to die
Fighting, inflamed drought
Do not know until when

The fate of the people there
Tearing our ears
Millions of flying flies
Scramble to eat with them

We chat at the dinner table
About those who are starving

Thousands of flying vultures
Next to their ribs
Millions of people condemn fate
Can't do anything

And we, let them die?

O, men!