The Dinning Room

We made them our chefs But our plate is filled with bones From their left over food What are we, dogs? They eat to fatten their flesh They drink to stupor, While hunger eat deep in our flesh And thirst dries our very blood. They bake the national cake with our sweat, With our eyes we behold the beauty of it, With our nose we smell it, But the taste of it remains a mirage The dinning room is filled with them, Leaders of hunger and thirst, Fat men with a belly of no satisfaction, The more they eat the hungrier they become, The more they drink, they thirstier they become They are ambassadors of insatiable appetite The dinning room, It should be a place of clinking spoons, And toasting cups of happiness, But here, we meet nightmares that lead to our death The death, we will all die whether full or hungry, thirsty or hydrated And their store house become a waste