Every time the sun rises,
The fishermen bring their catch,
A display for the masses,
The people pick their match,
//
Some go to restaurants,
And some go to markets,
Despite whose plates they land on,
People are happy for their pockets
//
The best cook gets the freshest,
To be accentuated by their talent,
So it can be served to the richest,
As compensation is their concern
//
Chopsticks and spoons already in hands,
All eyes zoom on the oncoming waiter,
Time and space no longer make sense,
The diners all seem just too eager,
//
Customers left, all too pleased,
The waiters come in to stack up plates,
Only bones were left from the feast,
The same cycle on any other date,
//
The establishment shuts their doors,
And all the boats go back to the sea,
These are the stories often ignored,
Yet there they stand out in Kuching City