The rain pours unforgiving,
wind chills to the bone,
no morning kissed by sunshine
ever warmed a bed of stone.
The skyline telling story’s,
so tall it hides the truth,
lying in the shadows
epitaphs are proof,
that idle are the promises,
and deeper is the debt,
for burning the Injustices
they want you to forget.
That man I turned my head from
that grey and sunken face,
what if luck had burdened
and put me in his place?
Austerity rewarded him
no dignity or bread,
some say it is the price to pay
believing that they care?
silent destitution,
cruelty thousandfold,
rich men don’t go hungry,
tonight outside it’s cold.