In broad day light
Shot, shot, shot, shot and shot again.
The noise of death
Silenced by the echoes of screams in comatose.
Raised by the underbelly
Of a metropolitan deemed sound for living,
He fell to blood hounds,
And was dragged to the end of the abyss.
Shrouded by his own guardians,
And incinerated
By the democratic miscarriage.
This is how years of sweat was wiped off
By blood-rivers striking down the streets.
What a price to pay for lighting up
A path of misdemeanours with black ink!
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