SURVIVAL OF THE FITTEST BY ZEMAGNA

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Born in the shadow
And shielded from the light;
The little valley cave
Is my lovely mansion;

With the rising of the Sun
Comes the beginning of troubles;
And the setting of the Sun
Puts my nightmares to sleep;

As the first rays fight
Through the morning clouds,
I scrimmage with my peers
Among heaps of "golden" trash...
While my peers spill human blood
To keep themselves fed;

As the Sun stands overhead
And drives all cold away,
I lie by the streets
And drive flies off my sores;

God says we should be content
But I wish my life had content
Why ain't I full as politicians' pockets?
But rather empty as state coffers?

The tax collector shall come
To collect property rate
So I shall offload my rubbish -
My precious income - to him
Or offer him my harlot wife
Who's infected with AIDS;

He shall go home ashamed
No bribe for him today
And I shall leave with hunger as my friend
And cholera with me in bed;

Life feels like a desert
And soon we'll get extinct
And forgotten by all
Like news about corruption;

My crying voice is gone
So be my talking drum:
Let the world know
That I suck empty breasts
While the rich gulp
From our pockets;
Till they rot in their graves;

But such is this desert;
Where we thread life's needle
And are guided by one rule:
Survival of the fittest.

By Zemagna

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