Square Blocks of houses lined up in a row

Smoke hovers over the stony streets below

Silent men wander, compelled to reap so that they might sow

 

All their hardened faces seem confused within the Way

Accepting without passion the labor of the day

And the woe of man caught in the trap that keeps his mind at bay

 

The systems of the Rich; plots and figures every fee

And the ones with hardened hands still struggle to be free.