Skeleton frames, parched land
Dusty promises of help at hand
Racial fights, cold dark nights
The robbers and murderers take flight

Guns and bombs, tears and mud
Luxury limos race through blood
But bound by debt to hopelessness
A once great country is now a mess

The desperation of relief
Bring darker days with no hope or peace
It it would only rain
To wash out the pain

There are bones that need flesh
A chance to start from fresh
If we wait another second
There will be yet more death.

by Tom Owen