H.407 -

Today is hard to turn corrupted brain To the people who know what is hunger When they look at you they are fed by hope Your sold voice cannot help them Empty pot and tenant trail, bare feet plunge in misery They cannot find, they cannot chase the rest Your sight doesn't reach them because it's too far from misery They look at you, trace your moves You are chased by their fists You feel strokes on your backs Life forced them to this brutal behavior Don't expect nothing else For your meanness