There was a child in the heart of our land emaciated, starving, weak.
And there he sat on sticks and stones to beaten down to speak.
So he dreamed, our little boy, of things he wished he had.
He dreamed of things like food and food so he wouldn’t feel so sad.
A bite of food was a dream indeed, better than any other
And for one, selfish as it may seem, he'd push aside his brother.
So he stuffed his face with a dream, the glutton, his eyes squeezed so, so tight.
His belly full with tasty thoughts, he savored every bite.
And once, the moon, who’d seen his dreams, asked the glutton why.
Our little boy he closed his eyes and said this with a sigh;
“I’ve never felt my belly full and begging for release. I’ve starved my days, yes all of them and longed for nothing but peace.
So leave me to my deadly sin, I’ll pay for it in time
for you have yours which I know not and gluttony is mine”.
Our land refers to Africa