Are we not all going to die?
After all, the bucket is meant for everyone to kick.
And this city of ours in no longer sin city,
It has grown wings and horns to become pity city.
Guns are toys in the hands of the little boys.
Mothers and their daughters eat the same Bananas.
Like in the time of Moses the Nile has turn blood.
Corruption is the baptism water of infants.
Bread, butter, blood and bones are served for lunch.
But is there still hope for pity city?
Does this thing called faith really work?
Insides are cleaned up from every decay,
Doubt has been been set free from the end.
All that there is, is but blindness.
Hope and faith are the blindfolds,
as thick as elephant skin they are
Concealing our eyes from the truth,
fueling the inferno of pity city.
The reaction is far more than one in a physics lab.
But are we not all going to die?