Half-handed Cloud The Famine's Hard
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
