The Deadly Game
I care not if they bridge the seas
Or ride secure the cruel sky
Always hot in snow and cold in fire
And the masters of all pride
Indeed life is sweet for them to attain fame.
But always jealous of the poor
Living on the field of chance and options
Always washed with information like the sea does to the sand
And live in the pool of confusion and conflicts
With total dirt and lies
And their stinking clothes of bloody wealth
A wish to withdraw from the deadly game
But being alive and crying, saying,
“Let us out, let us out”
But now, they learn to be wise
And practice how to thrive
That they would not bite the dust at last
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