Many days a week we wake by the trumpet of the day’s announcer, Fighting to forget the stings of the hunger declarer, Least are the days petty comfort passes us by. Down the drains goes our suffering.
With no place to seek alms For our portion is booked like a football ticket Though not in school you have created classes Classes with no respect to humanity
Yet thee enjoys the labor of our sweatly worn hands You laugh not at us but thy ownself. Forcing to please the infiltrator is thy only wish Ye are nothing but a traitor
We watch and wait tirelessly, For our time with Him. We sleep with the hope of crossing the river, Yet He brings us back.