Tell me my holy Father,
Why is it that,
The one who reaps the harvest,
Often goes to bed hungry?
Tell me my holy Father,
Why is it that,
The one who safeguards the country,
Is never really safe?
Tell me my holy Father,
Why is it that,
The one who builds with bricks,
Never really lives in a mansion?
Show me my holy Father,
The truth, The justice
That these humble menfolk,
Who have their hunger appeased,
Who live in mansions, safe and sound,
Often speak of.
Tell me my holy Father
How is it that,
The Godess is still blindfolded,
Living in her own world of disillusion,
That justice prevails in this world,
And that everyone are weighed equal,
Just like the two pans in her balance
If not all these my holy Father,
Tell me atleast this my Lord,
Why is it that,
These questions are always left unanswered?
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