The Injustice Of Light
What kind of system, what kind of light,
Where the poor stay in darkness despite the night.
A government servant burns a thousand bright,
Yet pays no bill, no burden in sight.
Free connections, excuses so old,
Feeding on the nation’s wealth, greedy and bold.
Even the electric poles weep in pain,
As justice hangs trembling in its fragile chain.
And there stands a laborer, sweating for bread,
Burning just two hundred, but drowning in dread.
Ten thousand in charges, crushing his soul,
Is this what you call justice whole?
Days of struggle, nights without sleep,
Children’s laughter hidden beneath cries deep.
In mansions, the rulers bask in the glow,
While the poor wait for light they may never know.
O kings of the time, hear this cry,
When will this cruel system finally die?
Light belongs to all; let bills be fair,
Or this darkness of injustice will swallow you unaware.
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