Ashes of a trampled city,
memories of a ruined burg.
From the backstreets, devoid of pity
where the darkest hearts emerge.
In this metropolis of mischance,
in this heartbroken, hamlet of gloom,
where the repugnant dance,
and the repulsive prance;
death finds the young too soon.
Shadows parade the streets,
marching to the severed symphony of waste.
The truthful tongues no longer speak,
as they were plagued with a bitter taste.
The worst of men are scorners,
the pity-peddler seeking to smuggle,
and the harlots at every corner
here in this iron, urban jungle.