Ink Smears

The place where the wretched lurk

Buried in dens they indwell

Watchfully eye each move we make.

Lurching through the darknened streets

Lined with treacherous two-faced rats

Ruining tomorow what we create today.

This city is a tomb of ghosts

Crippled and drained of minds

Leaving nothing but shadows of doubts.

Such inheritance is innate

Sins are embedded in thoughts

Flaring horizons are to be passed through

A withered place with empty souls

Neighboring estate vile as morgue

Content too far from being dead

Think of what you've done and you're all set.