I have closed off my balcony, for I do not want to hear the weeping. But out there, beyond gray walls. And the sea, nothing is heard but the weeping from the refugees on the boats.

There are very few angels who sing.
There are very few dogs who bark.
A thousand violin's fit in the pal of my
hand.
But the refugees how try to escape from
fearless do not sing.

But the weeping is an enormous dog,
the weeping is an enormous angel,
the weeping is an enormous violin,
tears have muzzled the wind,
and nothing is heard but the weeping
from the people how fear. 

Can we help ?
Will we help ?
Or ?