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The wind blows, the baby cries
People die, their deaths are untold
Land is desolate, nothing here grows
People living, for the sight of a food bowl
Trapped in an existence, it's hard to think
Such people really exist, hard to believe
Their plight is accepted
When money so wasted could be redirected
They're not some race that don't feel pain
Stravation is something you don't become immune to
People die, their deaths are untold
Land is desolate, nothing here grows
People living, for the sight of a food bowl
Trapped in an existence, it's hard to think
Such people really exist, hard to believe
Their plight is accepted
When money so wasted could be redirected
They're not some race that don't feel pain
Stravation is something you don't become immune to
Song Info
Submitted by
personman92 On Mar 11, 2006
More Flux of Pink Indians
Tube Disasters
Charity Hilarity
Is There Anybody There
Some Of Us Scream, Some Of Us Shout
Take Heed
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