[Eviction]

This city is on the verge of disarray, I don’t think I understood, only to a certain extent.
It’s beyond what words can express, becoming nocturnal has personal effects,
A fate worse than death, these depths make perfect sense if you learn from the best.
How can I be a hero, if I constantly turn my head, away from my own version of events?
These so-called heroes are lacking, swift justice needs to be completed as soon as possible.
How do you weigh the evil scenarios, logically some of the darkness has to be tolerable.
You can say it’s methodical, but this is a thankless job, it’s no longer considered honorable
There are two types of people I save, those alone in the dark hurting, or already in the hospital.


I’m a prowler that feeds off nostalgia, it’s impossible to hate, what you are bound to become,
A statistic, cutting through the red tape as the smoke billows out of the barrel of the gun.
A modern-day cowboy that’s surrounded by scum, those that get outed are a coward and run.
The crux of the matter was sour as some might expect, the villains will cut out your tongue.
They’re out for blood, I know I would never amount to much, but I’ll show them how it’s done.
Power corrupts those that are on the run, so I wait beyond the outskirts of this cloud of dust.
That mentality will get us all killed, memory lanes intersect, and you’re left at the crossroads.
A superhero without a cape, some nights I’m a burden, generating the skull and cross bones.
Is it cobblestone? Or a god-forsaken hole, what I stumbled upon took a toll on lost hope.
Sanity goes out the window, like moral code, and paths get bombarded with a flock of crows.
I’m exhausted from the long walks, no one trusted me, so it’s impossible to even hitch a ride.
Because I had enough scars to mistify, those passing by couldn’t understand why I didn’t die.
I should ignore an infant’s cry, because fighting’s ill-advised, on the streets you’re skinned alive.
If there is no outlaw there’ll be a genocide, so you keep on walking like there’s bigger fish to fry.
You’re a coward, so I can’t sympathize, I’m on the front lines, taking a bullet for the fallen angel.
But how long is that sustainable? I didn’t know a woman could kill, but she’s highly capable,
And she’ll leave more blood, so I deal with that like the others, a perfect world is unobtainable,
You will withstand a painful death, playing a game of chess, because humanity is unavailable.
I don’t know if there are better days ahead because I’m got to the point I can’t tell them apart.
It’s a repetitive task, to dwell in the past, I know well in advance villains are heavily armed.
Who do you tell who’s guilty in this cold world? It doesn’t matter how thorough the espionage.
Because when you’re left in the dark, it gets messy when dead bodies are conceptual art.

I was told I can’t save them all…