Oh nurrrse!
Signor Carlo says he can’t breathe..
He might be the next in line..
Or maybe that Signora..
in bed number nine..
Oh God!
We will have to decide again..
The healthy or the friend?
or that young man in pain?
oh God!
Your job of decision,
is too hard for a man..
They just keep on coming..
we try but in vain..
This emergency unit..
is a station of pain..
a gateway for heaven..
more loss than we gain..
Air is now gold..
and gold is just air..
it seems that in death,
this virus is fair!..
Oh Air!
we took you for granted..
we just didn’t care..
we cut more than we planted..
you damned us with fear..
Oh God..
Tie down these death angels..
that you have unleashed..
The lessons are mastered..
This virus has preached..
These numbers are rising..
We are in despair..
We never have thought..
we would run out of air..