Stacks of currencies are littered everywhere, his affluence depicts his personality
Stationed at the highest echelon of the society, mischievous premier of the economy
The youths are tools for his snap, going down the lane of delinquency
He tosses them at will, giant explorer of the weak willed
The hangman hanging their destiny
Thrall, underprivileged class of the society
Walled up in oblivion, depreciating hope of a better tomorrow
Dressed in shreds, hunger and death our daily meal
At dusk we feed rats of the street, our slums is the garbage bin for tomorrow
The horror of the morning is waking to find a dead kid wash offshore
Living in fear of the unknown seconds sustaining each day
Lying in the most of coziness
In fluffy beds, wired machines life leaves him
Blaring ambulance conveys him to the morgue, still attended to as the high priest
Embalmed with costly myrrh, he is taken for internment
Amidst tears and wails he's gently lowered into that dark room
The one room he never had
Beings scattered with crawled limbs and infested mouth
He passes on from the forlorn to yonder, lying in gutter, under bridges
The privileged of us get to have our relatives, others are found in cemeteries fed on vultures
No mourners at our graveside, forgotten before dawn
Still the one room we never had
Society gapped our lives with class
Death humbles us breaking the tags of importance
We are equalised, affluence and poverty disperses
The dark room of solace our abode, putrid we become.