Plaster is crumbling off the front
Cream-colored in the old days
When good ghosts were governing
In the kingdom
Redly entangled by fires

The kingdom perished
Dry soil remained
Memories in ruins
In the memory of friends
Of lying friends

The voice of a very old woman
Permeates invisible rooms
Ice-blue eyes

I saw the end of the wind
In a hell made of deserts and concrete
Where people only know violence
Shouting the days down
Restlessly running over fenced-in yards
Smashing faces with toasters

This house no longer feels like home
Winners walking among the deceased ones
Doomed to survive
Writing messages on walls

Not for this live
This home
The kingdom

This gotta end
Hell of concrete and deserts
Doesn't feel like home
No kingdom