The rent is due
The car is bad
The legs are tired
The fees are owed
The children at home
The food we scrape anywhere
We owe the sellers and life goes.
We are workers, public type
Paid but owing
We are living but half dead
We are breathing, no air
We are citizens, no country
There's a change, no difference.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem