Look into my eyes; whose tears do you find?
This wetness though feels like mine

I cry for that day I drew in my first breath
Now I know pleasure and pain and death
For Africa, the land of plenty
Your children tell tales of poverty
Your corrupt leaders walk tall and honored
Now the sun is down and the poor are cornered

I cry… yes, I cry
Look into my eyes; whose tears do you find?
This wetness though feels like mine
I cry for those victims of quakes, hurricanes and tsunamis
I cry for the pigmies of Congo whose homes lie in ruins
For the aborigines who know will never know their kids
For those kids of dream onboard that ill-fated sosolliso
So sad we so-so-lost-little-souls

Look into my eyes; whose tears do you find?
This wetness though still feels like mine

I cry for the dead who won’t get a burial
But I hope they will get there to find no denial
For the fallen poets slain for their words
I know even death still mourns their demise
Yet I cry for that day I will let go my last gasp
Then I will know how cold is death’s grasp

I cry fear for tears, blood for tears
Yes, I cry till I bleed
Like the casualties of our senseless wars!
I will cry till I am dry
Like the barren winds of the hammathan
And when comes that time when I will cry no more
O’ let these weeping words do the crying for me