They go around rag-clothed filthy
Born in the gutter trampled in dirt
No expectations no tomorrow
A population of the living dead!
There are more of them on this soil
Than the ones on whose mercy they live
Yet they're aliens to their own kin
Alike only in their human form!
Still you ask me to believe in god
Believe that justice reigns in his abode
Believe in an order amidst all the mess
Believe that everything happens by god's grace!