Set against the humid hum of asphalt horror. Where the grease and oil of a million engine's leeches the soil grey and sterile. The features of new life struggle against the wonton wash of the fluorescent pall. Who is this mindfield of innocence and despair, who are we teaching the penance of poverty.
This time the message is clear, the voice of ill spent and idle hands paint the truth of caged and beaten thoughts. Disrespect is the best friend of violence; hatred is the feast of fear. Among the rubble of this emotional decline we swap rose tinted dreams of wealth and belief.
Its the brave faces that walk through this petrol burning dream. Speaking to the night in the laungage of our dead and lost. Lets forget those who forgot us, as we make this city curse our name.
