Dustbowl

Those bars of attrition are very real where life might only be monetary where survival is counted in days not in years, and your very next meal has little nutrition, and feeds the many and isn't shared equally; in this malaise people, children die, and so few grow old. Their sky is a boneyard of black-sunlight it's God's own country, but it's like he has left and the lands a dustbowl, Oh Lord, behold this plight of hunger you have umpired. Will this evil suffering be addressed? It's no Garden of Eden, but we do our best send us some rations, and we'll do the rest.