Walking the path of hot burning ashes,
Blisteringly ripping at the soles they stride.
A shout echoes the alleys, and the newborns cry,
Afraid of the world, it is.

To those unfortunate we leave to bleed,
to those of high worth we awe.
Golden oil, drip the streets,
today’s fumes of society,
we breathe.

At the dead of night,
he who walks the shadows creeps.
And bullet pierced bodies, cry and weep.

Head down, avoiding blazing stares,
of distrust and worthlessness.
Enveloped in mourning of peace we dispossess.
Swarming together in terrifying heaps,
we chant the name of he above, who sleeps.

How did this come,
How will it go,
Nourishing off each other’s woe.