Where lie the poor in this city of diamonds,
The cries of the hungry in streets of pure gold,
Real are the beings paraded before us,
Or creatures who’s souls have for silver been sold.
They don’t need the poor, the old sick and weary,
When riches and glamour gives face that sustains,
The peddlers and dealers heave, bloated with profits,
Their eyes light up with each day of fresh gains.
So gone are the poor from the city of diamonds,
Silent the cries of the hungry and lame,
Sent far away to dark distant places,
So the city can keep its false friends from its shame.







