If we decide to till our farms,
They don't care to help us with their arms
We are hungry while they are in satisfactory
Is only food we always battle for ...
Suppose, my dear, that you were I
And by your side your sweetheart sate;
Suppose you noticed by and by
The distance 'twixt you were too great;
Now tell me, dear, what would you do?
I know-and so do you.