In shadows where the silence reigns,
Beneath the moon’s pale, ghostly light,
The whispers of the streets remain,
An echo in the endless night.

The children with their hollow eyes,
Find solace in the dreams they weave,
As hunger turns to lullabies,
In fantasies they choose to believe.

The mothers with their broken hearts,
Weave stories of what once was gold,
Within their arms, the world departs,
As hope becomes a tale retold.

The fathers with their silent tears,
Stand strong against the tide of fate,
Each day a battle with their fears,
In poverty’s relentless state.