Guns may crack, Bombs explode,
People fight on streets,
Back in "B" the Bourgeoisie
Are hiding in their sheets.
The video rolls with camera crew
And plenty of savoir fair,
Back in "B" the Bourgeoisie
Straight faced pretend to care.
The needle pricks the nerve of death
And bring corpses back to life,
Back in "B" the Bourgeoisie
Feeds caviar to a wife.
Stone hearts, cold minds
Turned, in human despair,
And back in "B" the Bourgeoisie
Just sit and stare.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem