Thoughts from dry counting time

A farmer is needing the holy water,
To let it wet the cracked land
Where no more crops and paddy to harvest.

Mother Tresa is needing the holy water,
To let it drink the mothers
when no more tears to cry.

The old school is needing the holy water,
To let it wet on starving brains
When no more people are working out on lectures.

Low lives are needing the holy water,
To let it rain on those aristocrat
When their sins can't be wash.

White collars are needing the holy water,
To slain the devils in their souls
When the pay rolls change to pay dirt.

Emptied stores are needing the holy water,
To refresh the old memories of splendid decades,
When there's only haunting shadows left.

The civilization features have gone.
The handsome salaries have gone.
Future dreams have gone.
Children' laughter have gone.
Couples' pillow talks have gone.

Are we ending?
Are we downing?

You have been driven us this far
just to leave in these days.

Think about it while you sipping a glass of wine,
Listen to the sounds of prey, before Sunday.