He must die, the poor man,
Shivering with cold, as hard he can,
To get our eyes off worldly chores,
See him in fever that ever soars,
But we can't be fooled, we wise men,
Going past him in counts of ten,
Dreaming of happier things,
Why indulge in the sorrow he brings?
He must die, the poor man,
Shivering with cold, as hard he can,
Tucked under a dirty rag,
Trembling in the warmth of a fashion mag,
Busy we are, looking for books,
Wary of the mystery that cooks,
Under the rag, the devil does lie,
Will pounce on anything that walks by.
He must die, the poor man,
Shivering with cold, as hard he can,
Lying on the footpath, in the marketplace,
Occupying some precious space,
Getting cursed by the hawkers nearby,
"This wretch, disgrace!!! He must die!",
"He's making our profits go down",
"He's bad omen, throw him out of town".
He must die, the poor man,
Shivering with cold as hard he can,
To get us to help him not lose the race,
With death, that now is on his face,
Its all his fault, all his crime,
He's in the wrong place at the wrong time,
Don't waste on him what we are already short on,
Let's save what's left for the next dawn,
Maybe another market, and we get double the price,
For what's left of our soul, while another man dies...