How many crusts does one man need
I know not if it’s love or greed
He’s not alone, there are some more
Collecting fortunes for their chores.
Twelve hours a day times seven days
Their minds to me have faded
No time for rest, never mind play
No wonder they look jaded
Sunlight escapes their every move
And fresh air’s just a myth
They work inside a concrete cave
God bless the ones they’re with.
The cash, I hope they use it well
To brighten someone’s life
To me that’s just a living Hell
I can do without the strife.
They just go home and climb ‘to bed
Too tired to go out
I’d rather get out of my head
Of that I have no doubt.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem