My back is not the one up against a fence.
I have not been convinced,
A normalized way of life...
Has found its way,
Lighting up streets everywhere that has a 'Broadway'...
And with such restricted and preferred,
Tours of view...
Unblemished by the sights,
Bombarding during the day on display.
Uncensored where everyone looks to get a tease.
And even at nights not too many street lights,
Are lit too bright to spot the sleaze.
Somehow...
Those who are awake with ideals faked,
Are those condoning to protect...
That which breeds the decadence to feed,
In the gutters under covers where it is kept.
Lit too bright to spot the sleaze,
Is...
That which is hidden in the gutters.
That which is yet to be discovered.
But is it?
Lit too bright to spot the sleaze,
Is...
That which is hidden in the gutters.
That which is yet to be discovered.
Is it...
Lit too bright to spot the sleaze,
That which is...
That which is hidden in the gutters.
That which is yet to be discovered.
That which is...
That which is hidden in the gutters.
That which is yet to be discovered.
Is it...
Lit too bright to spot the sleaze,
That which is...
That which is hidden in the gutters.
That which is yet to be discovered.
That which is...
That which is hidden in the gutters.
That which is yet to be discovered.
That which is...
That which is hidden in the gutters.
That which is yet to be discovered.
That which is...
That which is hidden in the gutters.
That which is yet to be discovered.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem