We're tied by fate
marching with promises sewn over lips.
Our minds shut
and controlled.
They call us imperfect
if you can deny.
Sunken eyes and faded skin
we are the things you crave from within.
The city is disgusting.
A corpse of what it used to be.
We're aloof.
We let the drugs permeate our system.
We stay high.
The ground is caked in dirt and rust.
We are worth your trust.
It's feels sick when we think about what we used to be.
We are your twenty one broken dreams.