Friday, 13 November 2015















We shall pack our rags and roam,
And sleep where stars will appear.
We shall call that place "our home"
Even if it will stink we won't fear.

And we shan't care much about hunger,
We shall search for food by the garbage.
We shall eat and lick our fingers,
And rest next to the sewage.

In our rags we shall shrink and sleep,
And remember the place we came from.
If it rains, we shall get up from our sleep,
And search for a new place to call home.

Our home will always be just,
It will always make life look comical.
While we eat from plates that have rust,
The "haves" are dying in hospital....

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