From a land of oppression, my soul's thread frays,
Where homes and hope abandoned, in silence, decays,
The streets, they bleed scarlet, a canvas of dread,
From where I come, anguish seeps through each thread.
From a broken home, screams shatter like glass,
Tears cascade like rain, a tempestuous morass,
A symphony of sorrow, a ghostly ballet,
From where I come, hearts wither and decay.
Pulled and shattered, an outcast in shadows' grasp,
In this barren realm, where despair clings with a rasp,
No beacon of solace, no respite in sight,
From where I come, darkness claims its invite.
Through fragments of pain, my spirit's torn and worn,
Crafting metaphors of sadness, mournful and forlorn,
In the tapestry of my existence, a raven's flight,
From where I come, despair reigns day and night.
In the land of oppression, my voice whispers low,
Each word I utter, a hurricane's mighty blow,
From where I come, a barren wasteland prevails,
Through depths of sorrow, my spirit never fails.
So let tears flow ceaselessly, rivers of woe,
In rhythm of my heartache, despair's eerie glow,
From where I come, a barren desert of despair,
In abyss of hopelessness, I languish, aware.
From where I come, a journey through thorns I tread,
Engulfed in shadows, where despair's touch widespread,
In face of relentless anguish, I strive,
From where I come, a tale of torment alive.
