Till tomorrow's lockets of truths come to pass
down through bleak street to the underpass
and their they stand coldly lost and forlorn
from the midnight hour to the scream of dawn
no saviour no lord nor knight can save them
for they are the folly of unforgiving lies
the screams of babies they have left behind
have hollow meaning in a city of greed and want
plaid objects of lust in a fat mans hand
'tis bent, contorted with bitter smiles on command
concrete flowers shatter petals like dust
among burnt out cars that are full of rust.

By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris