Our lives proceed in a kind of gloom
Within which, people inured
To borrow from the other ones the light,
When feel the need to be bright

Concerning their children, they do not bother
While take care of some dog or some cat
They spy and hunt one another,
Unlike the animals, they creep beyond the door’s mat

With no feeling of satisfied hunger.
Some of them kept an own shelter
But, most of them you would murder
If you would ask them to seek inside themselves.