Beloved Kenyans have had to tire
And to endure the streets of mire
Now no more comfort atop the tyre
And in the heart it feels like fire
For none will take note of need so dire
Tis now become a great bad pain
And their cry always was vain
As it touches not the affection main
Even while the heavens shower rain
For the common man is just a grain
So as they go up the town
They feel just to fall down
And have all cause to frown
For what they feel never is known
By those who claim they own the town
And the trouble has turned most
As up and up goes the cost
And down and down all hope is lost
So when the air is become frost
They can only curse the power ghost
Does anyone up there care to hear?
Does one thither hold our plight dear?
And as we count the days of the year
Will we also count increase in fear?
As it seems the solution is not near.
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