walk these streets, and for the first time I see,
Life is much harder, in this crazy city,
With each glance I give, with every turn of my head,
I see poor homeless people, praying for mere bread.
A life this hard, no one deserves to live,
Without a single possession, to their children they could give,
No food, no money, no clothes, for them to wear,
Aside their simple rages, they walk the streets bare.
I turn my head right, and see another man,
This one with children, using leaves as a fan,
In ninety degreee weather, it's a jungle in here,
There's hunters, and prey, with a heart piercing fear.
Not a single possession, in blistering heat,
Treading on hot ground, with dirty, bare feet,
To these poor people, every day is a fight,
With only one single end, that's closely in sight.
Death, the black abyss, is this what for they yearn,
Or to keep your daily struggle, hoping for life to take a turn,
To all who are helpless, and never had a friend,
Don't take your life, when the time comes, it will end.