We are slaped up from the mudd and our empty eyes are filled up with sounds of the striking clock. There is not much left for us the five fingers on each hand and it´s not too much the after taste of clay on the limp the taste we´ve got used to.
We are just the foot soldiers worked out to death our way is given but we forgot to tell the course. No one knows how the sun looks like everyone forgot about it we eat the crust of the trees and we are looking for faces in the muddy waters.
There is no difference between us we are equal now we know well the fear hunger and pain.
We are there were we started from and no one wants to know why our heads are hanging down we have no strenth to lift them up but never the less we are trying again.
