Don't let the orphaned children be heard, don't hear the cries of the oppressed, don't let the media be pressured, don't let the aids be passed, don't let the food be distributed, let the screams be silenced. At last—it's nothing but a shame, no shame—just chasing the fame, the world is nothing but a game, ignore their pain as it's all the same, let the tents and corpses ignite in flames, all the videos were just frames and names. Fifty-thousand deaths? Just statistic, tears and screams? just linguistic, an entire genocide? Merely artistic, to live and die—just something classic, and the media warns; don't you dare critique, a-hundred-and-eighty-thousands? Just mystique.