In the silent streets where whispers fade,
Echoes of dreams long since decayed,
The sun hides behind a veil of grey,
As hope takes flight and fades away.

Empty pockets and empty eyes,
In the land where sorrow lies,
The bread lines stretch like endless sighs,
Underneath the weeping skies.

Children’s laughter now but a ghost,
In the fields where whispers boast,
Promises lost in the dust they host,
Memories of the times we miss most.

Yet from the ashes, courage is born,
In hearts that weathered every storm,
For even in the darkest morn,
The human spirit can be reborn.