I don't mind stealing bread
from the mouth of decadence
But I can't feed on the powerless
when my cup's already over-filled
But it's on the table.
The fire's cooking.
And they're farming babies
while the slaves are all working.
Blood is on the table.
The mouths are choking
And I'm going hungry...
I'm going hungry...
I'm going hungry...
I'm going hungry...
