Havelaar
Lives taken, bodies broken, who is left to grow the gold?
Rifles cracking, no children laughing; the boss’ purse is full.
Sunny skies and broken pavement; people passing by
The aged in years unnumbered hang their heads and cry
Walking sideways, undercover, chasing dreams if youth
He strives to live amid the hate, what is a man to do?
Hitchhiker 