The pariah’s chant should be regret and omission of words.
The outcast song should be lament full or else null
The persecuted should have the voice of the oppressed
And yet, hummingbirds have no voices, only movement is allowed
Those hearts beats drumming like Taylor’s band
Those hearts like those who run for their lives
Those legs in incessant fight or run mode, all sides
Engaged at the multi-thread
The ethereal entangled head
Fighting to find its starboard
Fleeing from the menacing horde
Departed from Desolation destination decay
As I can with ease confess is this world’s way
 
Causes and effects are abstractions
An there’s no rest for the ruined wicked
Those who, being no one,
Albeit appointed, not to be ignored,
Hanged from a last thin branch
Work as slave in a Dakota country ranch
Those pigs not so equal to others,
That choose their fate by deeds done
Exuding sour from their visceral sin
And living a false live made of thin tin
Cause iron’s much consideration to them
 
Gypsies read their fates with awe and terror
Prophecies are spoken in baixo tone, repercuting the underbelly with infra sounds
It’s all about that bass, it’s all bass
Under 20, causing sensation of deep panic.
 
Memories of drunk lots of broken bottles
Now used as a collar to the enslaved one,
The one even the reaper refuses to accept in his dark lap.
Those who want to compose but never get a rap.
 
The tribe of one man without dog, no rabbit foot
A man who’s feeling so aloof
A person with a bad boot, a murderer soul, a tongue a foul,
Rage in a broken vase,
Walk without any base.
 
So there’s the snake dressed in human shape,
So identified to suffer in vain, so certain of the surrounding disdain,
That a sense of dark angel enters him,
Surrounds him in such a way that only
The beast of earth and sea feel no fear
When he stares with eyes of apparent black dead, evil intent.
 
And the children before they drink the wine of otherness
And join the collective, which number is many,
Bringing fear to all warlocks and witches, vampires and werewolves
His shadow so strange and indomitable he himself cannot control it.
 
So when the tower clock rang the last twelve strikes one more was added
And for that day on his secret name was thirteen,
The one against his kin,
Dangerous for himself and indifferent to the indignation,
Of the fellow enemy or the rage of close friends,
Foe of all fiends, searching the pact of the crossroads.
 
And longing to sign it with his pure blood.
So ancient as the stone were Gabriel stood
When his brother was left to fall in a tail of derail.