Children roam the forsaken lands
Round fire demon burning their blistered hands
These children are the living dead
Their fragile limbs as thin as thread
These skeletal creatures work night and day
Their obsidian skin as hard as clay
They quench their thirst on water dirtier than mud
And deadlier than poison and makes them cough up blood
They live on so little food and so much dismay
That their bodies eat their organs and muscle away
They live in hell on earth, that is plain to see
So where are the angels? Where could they be?
They're hiding their heads in the fluffy white clouds
Away from the outcry of the suffering crowds
The louder for help the people beg and shout
The louder the angels strum their harps to block them out
The more in agony starved children shriek and scream
The more the angels insist it's just a bad dream
Angels roar at God 'Why don't you end their dismay? '
Then roar at a beggar 'Stop whining for food! I'm trying to pray! '
They forget it was an angel who created this hell
And rarely an angel bothers to try and end this black spell
The people beg us for help in this time of woe
But we can't save them, we died long ago
We fell victim to a religion and disease worse than cholera
Called apathy, a faith that claims too many a follower
God created us angels to protect this land
If we just fly down and give the people our hand
And from our cake, give them a little piece
Then their endless hunger will begin to cease
So will we blame God for life's tale so gory?
Or serve him and make it history?
Do we join other angels and make it the land of dreams
Or leave it to become the land of forsaken screams?