They say the skint don’t understand the law,
That hunger clouds the mind and dulls the sight;
From marble halls, they judge without a flaw,
Assuming need is proof of lesser light.

But those who wait where coffers never land
Can read the cost of silence line by line;
They know how power slips from hand to hand,
And how each promise fades with borrowed time.

The suit believes that wisdom wears tie,
That speech grows smarter higher up the stair;
Yet truth is learned where families ask “why”
And govern life with almost nothing there.

If leaders paused to listen, not to instruct,
They’d find a knowledge shaped by wounds and care,
The skint aren’t blind to how the rules are struck;
They simply weren’t the ones allowed to chair.