Luyện nghe bài hát Orphans of wealth

There is no time to or debate
What is right, what is for our people
Time has run out for all those who
With bent and minds that are feeble

And the rain falls and blows their window
And the falls and blows through their door
And the revolve mid their sounds of starvation
When the tides rise, they cover the

They come from the north and come from the south
And come from the hills and the valleys
And migrants and farmers and miners and humans
Our neglected to tally

And the rain falls and blows their window
And the falls and it blows through their door
And the seasons mid their sounds of starvation
When the tides rise, cover the floor

And African, Mexican, Caucasian, Indian
Hungry and Americans
The of wealth and of adequate health
Disowned by nation they live in

And with weather hands on bread lines they stand
Yet but one degradation
And they're treated like while we sell them food stamps
This thriving and prosperous

And the rain falls and blows through their
And the snow and blows through their door
And the revolve mid their sounds of starvation
the tides rise, they cover the floor

And roaches and rickets and rats in the thickets
Infested, and decaying
With rags and no shoes and sores that ooze
By the poisonous pools, they are

In shacks of two rooms are rotting wood tombs
With breathing inside them
And we pity their as they call in the night
And we do all that we can do to hide

And the rain falls and blows their window
And the snow in white drifts that fold
And the rise with floods in the nursery
And a child is crying, hungry and cold

His life has been sold, his young looks old
the face of America, dying