High in supremacy, She only is the Creator
Heaven and earth, She is an Author
Hiding in her delight; man is but an editor
His mind on lush kites, for money She never made.
Hilariously networked power across big bucks
Horn on dogs, hardship diplomats
He is in charge of dispense but
Hit by inflation and deflation confusion.
Income has a grudge at most times…
In the eyes you see their home and abroad
Inside, deep in the mind; hope is by the road
In-spite of that; Man favors the big buck slimes.
Along the rich carpets, poverty pulls the poor
Away from reach as riffraff in the lore
A billion printed daily is a suffering toy, for
Along my streets, are the rich and the poor.
I can be devalued and torn
But I rather not be born
Than be human and poor
In this world where poverty mourns.
I can be that goat with no horns
To my achievements; a stubborn son
In its gigantic lips; a noisy horn
But I rather not be born….
If I am to be a fruitless corn
That is planted behind close doors
Built in such a way: keys can not turn
…I rather not be born.
When tears flow across the thimbles
Where it deposits particles of pains
With memories of recalling hopes
With memories of offenses and errors
Stalked and talked about in stories
Know ye’: life isn’t as the fairy-tale says
Oh ye’: a road so sweet, so we drive on
Sure yeah: it’s like my countryman roads
Always rough with an unending turn
Up and down; tires and rims feel the pains
Sure! the ability to control the wheels
Shows you’re the man: that very true son.
When the sweat refuse to dry soon
Know ye’: life isn’t as stories writers think
It has my countryman prices
Face the challenges; ride along the roads
And Until you get to the market
Never say you can’t purchase from it.