An Unfinished Poem

Some people are, forlorn While some people, having fun Some countries, war torn Other countries, peace on Some leaders, act like a demon Leaving the poor masses in rejection Some behave, like a chosen one They treat there subjects, like a new born They loot our money to places like Lisbon Their children study in places like London And ours in places like a prison They eat pork and mutton like a glutton And ours, we live on raw corn from dusk to morn They bulid for their family each, a mansion We live in huts of dejection