The Famine's Hard کے بول

The famine's hard, the city's sieged, and we've forgotten who we need “I ate my son, and I regret But you don't know how desperate Oh the King, he rides the wall When I cried his clothes he tore Jahoram, he blamed the Lord We saw potato-sack underwear.” “To kill Elisha, and have his head,” Is what that wicked king had said Elisha trusted, despite the mail And prophesized a flour sale Four lepers, empty camp And they weren't coming back Retreated from the music Of an army soundtrack And then we plundered deserted tents I sold my flour for a pence