Your riots are just cinemas
For those well dressed people
Who toss their glass of wine
While you burn to ash
To light their warm fire

Did they smiled
When you screamed
Out of your lungs?

You packed up your feet
Flew away from your place
To fight and bleed then deceased
Rust all those swords and swears
Only to get none in the end

They will forever playing well
Hide when you interrupt
Show when you are in doubt

To tie you tight
And make you chase them
beg on their knees
For some crumbs of bread

"I need my light back, master!
Who you took from my skeleton
Or my daughter's hopeful future.
Have some mercy or pity,
Upon these small matters
On your feet."