the streets breathe, for we all live behind stone
and whisper from storm drains by lamplight.
our city hides bodies out of lamplight,
their tell-tale hearts thumping out of sync.
but there are warm sorrows where you can sink.
for the nights bite cold, down to the bone.
our city, built from graveyard dirt and bone.
haunted by the dead with teeth of gold.
the red deaths are masked by rich man’s gold
provided by their father’s father’s veins.
our city is bled dry from poor men’s veins.
while the ravens are waved away.
they will brick you, me, and our city away.
the streets breathe, for we all live behind stone.
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