In their unsettling eyes,
where the depths of despair and sorrow lurk,
exists a city painted
in the vivid shade of red,
reminiscent of a beheaded goat.

It is a place where the very essence
of existence is severed, as if limb from limb,
leaving one utterly devoid of coherent thoughts.
And as blood trickles down, its crimson streams
permeate the worn-out cracks and crevices
of the city's paved streets, seeping into the
very soul of its weathered cement.

The trance-inducing stains, resembling veins,
intertwine with the essence of the city itself,
pulsating with an intensity that mirrors the
rushing flow of black cars, reminiscent
of clotted clumps of blood, flooding the roads.

Yet, just as an insidious cancer infiltrates the body,
the roadblocks erected by corrupt police officers
obstruct any signs of progress or hope,
suffocating the metropolis.

In the midst of this relentless chaos,
where silence is but a distant memory,
an anthem to the undead echoes through the air,
merging with the pervasive sense
of anguish that engulfs the city's very core.