Restless Crowd

At thirty-five imperial gallons Or one hundred fifty-nine liters Match a barrel of crude Which every day, millions you export To the disappointment of all others Fellow citizens, to whom your gluttony assaults Still, to Mother Nature We should be grateful Despite much energy resource With which they generate poverty And all sorts of mistreatment Each and every corner I turn In this concrete jungle I face myself with a sad panorama Where the crowd Restless, complains Of the public treasure, that old rogues Without fear fleeces O flabbergasted, but indifferent How many of you In the restless crowd review yourselves?