No one to turn to
Help is rare to find
Friends are now enemies
Families left behind

I remember the good days
When we would laugh, and sing, and play
We had picnics in the sunshine
and watched balloons fly by all day

Now fear of fever is stricken everywhere
Neighbors are dying in bed
Yellow scarves plauge the city
And carts search the streets for dead

The market that once thrived with life
Is distraught and picked at by rats
The hot summer sun beats down on us
We are drenched in exhaustion and sweat

They say the fever will die out
At the first frost of winter
But summer seems to never end
And the stench of the dead and dying still linger

Many have escaped to the country
The President also has left
Empty homes are robbed of their treasures
I pray for winter frost yet