The sun baked earth is cracked and dry
And the sun burns in the sky.
Truckloads of food from wealthy Countries far away
Keep arriving every day
But for thousands ’tis too late
They have met with an awful fate.
In the Land where nothing grow
Their end was painful and slow
Weakened by hunger and disease
In the camps of refugees.
We who have more than enough to eat
Of bread, fruit. cheese and milk and meat
Scarce a moment of thought spare
For the hungry of elsewhere.
Little do we seem to know
Of life in the Land where nothing grow
Thousands weakened by famine and disease
And the stench of death blowing in the breeze.