The people for people

No one like him,

unexemptional from heaven,

he scantly looks at me,

thatched up on the pavement,

knocks me down,

claimimg to be in a hurry,

for the good of me,

An angel he is,

2 packed flours,

to last a month,

then left to fed on castles,

made by this incarnate devil,

he squanders all,

feeding on the air,

that only i can achieve.

slapped with bottles,

sandwitched between giants,

compressed and detered,

is the expensive price i pay,

to reach this angel,

i once saved

calls me desperately,

at the time of harvest,

to summon all,

for the good of his souk,

and to stuck him in his position,

yet he strangles my neck,

deprive thy air

while shutting my mouth