They eat and drink in tidy mire
They sing and dance in chilly fire
They laugh and smile while begging for alms
They say no words to hurt or harm
They possess a kind of faith
That accepts their unfortunate fate
Then I see another folk on the affluent side of life:
They wail as they sail to another clime
They fight the chef because the menu is rough
They frown and whine because the meats are tough
They say too much to hurt a soul
In every place they tread their sole
They have no faith to praise their fate
But always think they deserve a better state.