Coins rattle like ghosts in a hollowed-out hand,
A promise of riches that turns into sand.
The hunger, it lingers, a whispering thief,
Devouring dreams, devouring belief.

The night is a tyrant, the morning unkind,
Each dawn is a debt, each breath is confined.
The walls, they are laughing, they know I can’t leave,
They tighten, they mock, they watch as I grieve.

A beggar’s tomorrow is yesterday’s debt,
A cycle unbroken, a fate that is set.
The ladder is greased, the rope is too thin,
To climb is to falter, to dream is to sin.

Yet still, I keep walking where daylight won’t shine,
For hope is a tyrant far crueler than time.
It whispers of kingdoms beyond what I see,
Yet chains me in shackles I’ll never break free.