A whirlpool of thoughts spins around my head.
Thinking of words that have never been said.
Playing with children that never been fed.
With the food of wonder, the food of dreams.
While I myself, have it bursting at the seams.
These poor children, they suffer.
And every single day, their lives get tougher.
They starve, every single child.
Their imaginations so mild.
I weep for them, the children.
In their eyes, I see something grim.
A light is there, but it’s growing dim.
Then it fades away, away into the night .
And the children, oh the children the don’t even fight.