Peasants With Pleasant Rags

You see us everywhere you go Every corner of your street house our offspring Every bridge in your city has become our refugee camp We are the people you call peasant We are the peasants with pleasant rags You see us at the entrance of your estates You see us at the gate of your beautiful companies In search of what our mouth will feed on next We are the peasants with pleasant rags Our gradually fading skin Now a sweet companion to the midnight moon and afternoon sun We are the ones without homes We are the peasants with pleasant rags When bridges become forbidden by the law We opt for uncompleted buildings A few of us get lucky when it rains And shield themselves under cars We are the peasants with pleasant rags We are the ones that beg for the remnant from your table We are the ones life has just not been fair to We are the peasants with pleasant rags We are the ones that get poorer while you get richer We are the ones that scramble for the leftover at your feast We are the ones that fight for your used clothes We are the peasants with pleasant rags