We exist in the days of hunger and revolution.
Viral expansions of those crying for morsels of warmth and justice
Tranquility yet to be mourned...
"A piece of bread would buy a bag of gold."
Is it apocalyptic or a figment of the imagination?
Hearing what our itching ears want to hear.
Deafening and defaming the shouts of our children.
The charades continue in capitalistic
Labyrinths of humanity encircled by the mazes of our soul preoccupation.
Shall I dare ask for a crust, to dip it in the milk of mankind.
Gently awaiting the weeping and reaping of another, mangled in the excuses of violence and bloodshed.
The moans of our saints lie in spattered streets while the sheets enclose the mutations.
Silence shall be broken.
We exist in the games of hunger and revolution
Silence the cries.