Your eyes, the color of coal, move and spies, legs wobble like a foal.
You want to learn, you want to read, you just yearn, but I don't think that's your needs.
Your hands are cracked, they are bloodied, I know you lack, if only I'd come running.
Hopefully, your cries are heard, and hopefully, I will hear the word.
Your eyes, filled with wonder, didn't want the lies, didn't want the hunger.
The guns came, without a sound, shot down my glory and fame, round by round.
They just left you, little boy with wonder, among so few, after they plunder.
Keep hoping little boy, those guns are gone, go back to toys, go eat your naan.
For tomorrow, when you wake, there will be less sorrow, keep reading, for my sake.
Keep hoping for a better day, because hopefully, there will be a way.
