Monsters still roam these streets,
Their names written in every sunset,
Pronounced like wind whispering through barren trees,

They rake their claws through your hair,
Dripping ichor-venom,
Long, wicked and dirt-caked,

And they dip tentacles in your pockets,
Taking a cent here, a dollar there,
Bleeding you dry, starving you out,

These horrors call you ugly, lonely,
Give you poisons as glamours,
And name themselves friend,

These beasts steal into your soul,
Become closer than your heart,
And tell you who you are.