Nothing hurts than that excruciating pain within.
The night witch who witch hunt us in broad day.
Every jot for every death.
The second devil deviding our throats.

The justified law justifies the unjust.
Exonerator of the pen robbers.
And convictor of the armed robbers.
The only coat that shield the cold of dimagods.
The monster that eat our flesh.
And the ink that bloods our people.
It's not the Angler's fault to bring home empty hooks.

Don't blame the potholes on our feet.
Nor the peasant farmer for your starvation.
Until the written is unwritten,
The cancerous in our skins never heals.
And our freedom is a ghost.