Sometimes it all spills out like a vein being hit.

Letting the ink cry even if the eyes dont do it.

Writing to a wall about the problems of the world.

Knowing damn well that the mouth wouldnt do it.

Urban city full of beautiful youth losing hope.

All thanks to this blackhole, slowly they climb the rope.

The ghettos. streets made of dope. 

Crack attacks, the elite govern, laugh and take notes.

Plotting on any other city, any other country.

There is no escaping the guns and drugs when its implanted.

There is no escaping death when you are surrounded.

Capitalist wont admit that this world is a money tree.

Perfect shade but it's hard when the sun wants to attack

Daughters and sons; some unplanned.

The bullet that flew in through the window was unplanned also.

We are products of our own environments and we climb to the blackhole slow.

The good girl goes to church to pleasure the soul.

While the good girl's body parts are being sold.

Nobody ever believes the young folks.

The stories were never good enough to be told.