Pray not know desperate
indifference in existence nor
descent to manifest of
hopelessness. Like wayward souls
drawn into light they'd fill
Cidade, fallen from paths which as
life cogs we tread, guided chance
misled, to settle up on ill
occurrences of then past regrets.
Men built a devil's haven in
lament as youth grew lawless of
neglect. They'd turn to
masochistic massacres and
ego-maniacal dreams to pacify. But
hey, you got to say, complete
control of nothing appears better
than forfeiting all holds to
appear better so... All they would
know would be the tense cradle
song of cruel armament and agony
as outlaws strove to rise up and
victims refused give up. The
innocent. The transference of
stance as death came life for the
brothers of breathless and the
grieving kin of beloved harvested.
For life they'd know living as
fear of losing lives.