Little Indian Boy Immense pressure on shoulders so tiny, The little boy in India cleans the rich mans table so shiny, He works to survive and feed his family, His father has died doing the same happily. He knows no better then the dirt he cleans, Though when he sees the rich son's toys he wonders will he have the means, When sitting and waiting he does wonder why, Why are some people rich but soo many soo poor? Why one man sits near the sky and the other always on the floor? Though in his heart he senses peace, Even after washing away the full days dirt and grease, He knows he has nothing to call his own and to fight, Other then his mother who he cares for in the night, He wonders why with all the money his boss and his family complain, They always seem to worry and spend there money to entertain, He hears them say we could be richer we can profit more and build our domain, Though he thinks whats the point if stress is all that they gain.