Beneath roofs that leaks for water of hunger they live,
With angry clouds atop that guarantee no motion for survival;
Drop of water on the tongues it deserts,
And turned them hopeless like left-behind soldiers in the world war of famine.
.
At the pregnant cloud they tell their thirsty stomach should look up to,
Tales of noises they should allow their lips to sag to not;
Like a flame their sorrow would be over they tell
Where blazing its fire is.
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Gigantic chests have confronted the bullets of the terror,
Their survival silent like silence itself;
Tongues that possess oil of truth are their back palms,
Thereby, taking the citizen's trailers on a slack ladder as their pleasure.
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Corruption is the flag to the freedom of the issue,
Sewed with cottons of deception,
To breeze of fabrication that travels through the air it dances to,
And went aground for truth we call sorrowful moments.
.
West they take as their east,
Calling hairy coats on heads bushes,
Tails they call snakes without heads,
Calling real tails heavy threads.
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Beautiful scars they tell their thunder would leave in their skies,
The wounds that could be healed by salt of death;
But, one day to the knees of the citizenry they would come to cling,
When their health starts to smell like the dunghill.