Let us walk on these streets of gold,
with a Cadillac and Ferrari on the side,
no one dares to be as bold,
as those who show their money with pride.
Keep walking down the way,
until the ground turns gray,
here we find the place of life,
cut apart with a knife.
The attitudes are dim,
the people are looking slim,
for they must continue on,
working on a lawn until they are long gone.
For they visit the golden street,
not to live, but to weep,
as they work to eat,
payed with lies and deceit.
Do we notice?
Do we care?
As their children lie naked and bare.
Do we help them?
Do we feed them?
Or do we just send a prayer?