Fields of Dust

Just outside an open hut in Ethiopia Fields of dust gather for the harvest A lunar land with rocks and craters With souls piled up in graves  Stay just as quiet with the people Who have so much in common with the land A golden sun will come to comfort them To cover them in blankets of the earth In Ethiopia just outside the hut There are no windows made of glass People are not working on a tan Or Lying about on blankets in the sand It is an idle curiosity for Americans  To watch a population grow to zero  With so much attention given to the gangs To details, to rocks, to fields of dust In God we trust and with Him gangsters