I see rags and tears,

That never seem to be seen,

I see dreams and fears as large as the biggest of boulders,

Ones that’ll never come to be.

While the other is too heavy for their tiny shoulders,

Morose and cold are the lives of the young,

Forced to see some petty change and tepid meals,

Their stories remain unsung.

While their you is left to the old to steal,

Guardians and parents shackle them to god and drugs,

Make them rush into standstills under streetlights.

Sell some knick knacks while the automatic beats breath into their lungs,

Trapped under rubble, left with no way to see the sights.

Of a child, who’s hoisted up into the air and celebrated for the innocence they hold,

They are merely left with a life with no love and this just seems to happen every day,

From the most worn out streets to the roads decked with gold,

You’ll see them peddling, rag picking, begging, all without a say.

So the next time you see them, ask them what they dream about,

Ask them what they want to be, ask them where they wish to be,

Ask them all the questions, you would ask a child, That’s never been held the right way.