IS THIS OUR INDIA
Harsh the winter frost that lay upon the ground
Some say it kills the bugs and colds but I see it different now
Some people are glad to see that ice come into our days
But what about the people on the ground they have to lay.
No winter woollies, no thermal vest no trying to decide is
Oil or coal the best, no coat no shawl for those down in the gutter crawl. Pneumonia, gangrene, blisters all are common to those who have nothing at all. We pass them by rarely lifting a hand to help these people, oh let the poor be damned, why should we worry they’re not in our lives anyhow. All those empty houses and flats now boarded up, what about the homeless, oh no for them who gives a fuck sure that would be too easy. The harsh frost the rain the gales, how many lives could those shelters save? The nine year old girl for whom prostitution looms! That bottle of turps the old man consumes their lives no ordinary persons head will turn. We ignore their plight in our heart there is no room, but did you ever stop to think you could be just like them all too soon. So I suggest my friend for these people in our hearts we make a little room otherwise they will be dead all too soon.
And who’s to blame well ask yourself what was their names and then ask yourself again who’s to blame
Robert Chapman
