The suited man who sits to weep,
as life's troubles he condemns,
these tears of bitterness run so deep
but why? Why should he cry?

Hasn't he seen, the girl in the street,
who stares, her face gaunt and pale,
as she wakes from last night's frozen sleep,
once more, the same as the morning before.

Hasn't he seen the photos they show,
every night, on TV, in appeals?
Where those people work harder than we'll ever know,
and yet, this man sits and weeps.

All that he has to make him this way
is a sale that he lost in his job,
his promotion is now endangered today,
and he cries like the fool that he is.

Doesn't he know all the pain that was seen,
all the lives that were tarnished and lost,
in the wars that have broken our fair nation's seams,
if only he knew real pain.

Didn't he see, that woman who sobbed,
as her children were dragged from her arms,
by the men who knew nothing of conscience and love,
their aims just to tear lives apart.