Bread and butter.
Earning a crust.
Pulling plastic from dust.
Just a mountain of poo
Rather them than you?
Two small boys dressed in tatters.
A fourteen-hour stint is all that matters.
To earn a few pennies....
Keeping hope for their families.
Day after day.
Does it really have to be this way?
In a world of technology.
Don’t you find it rather extraordinary?
That the lifestyle so many enjoy.
Is so far removed from a third world boy.
This season of goodwill to men.
Will anyone remember them?
An envelope delivered asking for cash.
Hoping to prick a conscience, get to your stash.
Send a cheque a dollar or two.
Go on it’s the right thing to do.
Sooner or later it’ll all be forgotten.
Losing yourself at Christmas, being spoilt rotten.
Across the miles though the search goes on.
An abject scene that can only be wrong.
Little hands covered in dirt and cuts.
Ignorant of politics, the men with fat guts.
For them, just toil and grime.
A modern-day disgrace, a fucking crime.
We’ll sleep easy tonight, away from their fear.
Working for hours, the dust hides a small tear.