All that is gold does not glitter:
Only the fulgent things we can see.
Not all that conforms is what is better,
Poor little youth: thralls they shall always be.
Why not to more ears this hath been heard?
This disgrace, its morality truly is blurred.

To quit the toil and to play, only they can wish,
Yet upset are we, though our experiences are not harsh much.
They keep a smile, though to be free is ne’er a dish.
We are so hurt, but only life’s tip we touch.
They are in strict cuffs, ne’er to be from those away,
How cruel and sad, mayhaps they’ll break free one day.

So stern and woeful, they can do only what they are told.
Their state is trapped in dark shadows, unable to be seen by any man.
Must be rigorous to have to obey tyrannical lords,
They have to endure their state for the eternal clock’s span.
To their forced labour they give out their heart,
For when not, a break shall be from them further apart.

“Mother, why am I to carry bricks while other youth frisk?”
“Mother, am I less a human than the others, which is why I toil?”
“O’, quiet thy speech, to anger thy Lord is not one...