The Lost

The streets hold violence,
there aint no silence,
In a place, that makes, the good turn bad.
The anti-free are the haters from history,
The unsolved crisis of a mystery.
The voice of one cries,
As another soul dies.

As you make your decision,
u may even invision,
a place without division.


gun shots heard,
houses burned.
possessions stolen from the pure,
all devised as a lure,
hoping for a cure.
To end the suffering.