Barboni

I see people who
Dress in fashion
Every day that goes by
A new one leaves
And I see them move away on the bus
When a beggar gets on
Or a gypsy
Is it envy?
Or disgust
For themselves
The beggar thinks
That you are no longer free
To not have
A house with a bed
To sleep
You work
Slaves to money
That you don't smell the stench
Of slavery
With a cart
I will push my troubles
Cardboard boxes and life
Far from you
Who eat every day
And know why
But those who are dirt poor
Don't speak of love
Who knows, will we ever see
The People of the Abyss
Rise up to raise their fists and
Overturn the neighborhoods
And the cities
Maybe it will be our
Last dream