I shout to the clouds of the torned-up town,
They said they were hefty so my endeavors drowned.
The town was drunk to a hallucinated sin,
Like a soul on the swing disturbed by his molested scene.

Obnoxiously lamping the soil to bury the truths,
My wretched life shrieked to the hanged forbidden riots,
Their voices were shut and gits were rolled  out,
The hanging symphony of death left no shadow by their houses.