Out of Africa

I saw a dying soldier
Little more than a child
His new uniform concealing his wounds
His young life defiled

I heard the voice of a victim
Suffering from AIDS
Too weak to stand or eat
As their life began to fade

I smelt the unforgiving poverty
Their only shelter a grimy hut
Open sewers made me wretch
Their door to life firmly shut

I touched the slime left by receding waters
Where their lives used to stand
The flood swept away their wealth
I felt the ruined crops beneath my hand

I tasted the dust filled air
As miners emerged from the ground
To them there was no value
To the gold that they had found

A Beck

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