In a field of twenty,

or of four

you find them wealthy

they that do implore.

Finding light and darkness

they corrupt like lighting.

Fighting all abstractness,

feeling evermore frightening.

Systems collapse at sunrise

yet they survive through vulgar ties.

In the night you hear the cries,

of all the young guys.

After dawn, people creep

living on, and going underneath.

The issue is deep,

for we are each other’s relief.

Out of the twenty,

only four were derived

to have had sympathy,

for those they had deprived...