feel the sound of stomach grumbling from my two kids,
blinded by dark tears of poverty that emerge often than never,

I see them holding onto their mugs cause drought has driven them out of their normality,
they are not thugs, just the unfortunate,

skills they do have but who will fund deserted soul eager to steal,

they searched far and wide searching for knowledge yet to find,
their dreams are vague which makes them to have little hope,
so they steal trying to feed their hungry soul,

they sleep in abandoned homes, with plastic to warm their hearts,

everything looks hopeless,
when the tank is empty