Song for Them - Flux of Pink Indians

The wind blows

The baby cries

People die

Deaths are untold

Land is desolate

Nothing here grows

People living

For the sight of a food bowl

Trapped in existence

It’s hard to think

That such people really exist

Hard to believe

Their plight is accepted

When money so wasted could be re-directed

They’re not some race that don’t feel pain

Starvation is something you don’t become immune to