
We are well-fed,
but we‘ll never be sated.
Surrounded by plenty,
we bemoan our plight.
The lament is endless,
a shelter of indolence,
where we adore yesterdays
but there is no tomorrow.
We are well-fed,
but we‘ll never be sated.
Surrounded by plenty,
we bemoan our plight.
The lament is endless,
a shelter of indolence,
where we adore yesterdays
but there is no tomorrow.