Bloodied and burnt,
The soul carried on,
Crooked and stern,
All complexities gone.

Why look so glum?
This is what you wanted.
This beat that you drum,
Is melancholy and dented.

Why do we like this flame,
Because it can ****,
We ask for our sorrows,
Let someone else pay sorrow's bill.

What are we without pity?
A shell in refuse.
In this abandoned city,
Pain is the only excuse.

Excuse your pain,
And we'll accept you.
Don't act so vain,
Make it hurt and we'll continue.