Things are hard, it's crunch time,
no butter for my wholegrain bread.
Instead, the cheapest loaf in town,
with some marg, quite thinly spread.

Yes, times are tough, no wedge to spare,
no Friday night take out grub.
Instead, it's buy one, get one free,
and don't you dare go down the pub.

But things are always tougher
in the place where time stands still;
where the dying is done by slow degree
and the children don't just ~ 'get ill'.

Where the once verdant fields lie barren,
and a tent is the place they call home.
Where each day is a fight for survival
and the hunger chills down to the bone

So lets eat, drink and be merry,
then go blissful on our way.
And forget that place,
where a handful of maize
is the lifesaving dish of the day