Upon my gaze on their faces
Naught saw I but a glimmering hope—
The hope to be chosen—
From the many few,
For few are called'
Yet fewer still are chosen.
The cause of idleness plagues their soul
And earnestly they want to be called,
Sitting for long they have been
Internally intoning the right answers,
Their hearts beat faster than cheeteah,
Loud and clear even the deaf complain,
Their aim is employment
Their goal is job,
For so they've searched from
Place to places
See how they vie for a vacant seat
In this rat race.
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