we move beneath the darkness
we slide between the cracks
we are the ones who never find
gold on beaten tracks
for we’re the poor in spirit
even powerful and strong
we feel a little different
our roads are always long
for we see a world of shit-shows
from the kitchen to the streets
babies born as others die
what’s progress with repeat
of those of poorly spirit
be they prisoner or free
darkness do not fill the cracks
or how else shall we see?