No Run Kills Every Fun

We all dream so do the rich, The rich dreams without any tumulus itch, We dream to run to feel the wind from the sky, That's more than enough to even end the day with a bye, More plates before them to eat, All we have is a pair of palms for the food to meet, They have more nights to dance, All we find is the difficulty in desiring for a chance, The one who feeds my brother is me, Though I don't care about who I want to be, A night without the bread makes him cry, As I venture out at midnight though my tears won't dry, A cloudburst puts all the road in mud, No one could even hear my footsteps thud, A broken road with holes and their puddles with waste, Everytime I tripped on mud I forcibly had to taste, I manged to buy the bread for him, A glimmer of joy on his face of dim, I slept with a starving gut and a wounded foot, The next day the pain made it's own excruciating boot, I can't feel time with my growing pain, I worry how would he live without any breaded gain, One last barf and he saw my eyes standing red and still, Agonized forever when he cried out loud the roads did kill, Now there is no fun or run for the bun, Majority ignores which makes the burn, Unquestioning even when it's their turn.