A tale is not often told
Inked not in blood, but liquid gold
Hidden in the pretty pages
The crimson drips from lack of wages
Survival of the fittest does not apply
When the fittest have frightened tears in their eyes
Stricken with fear
They dare not speak
In their minds the cries no one will ever hear
Horrific cruelty met with a quiet shriek
All this for a perfect world
A perfect city, the perfect mold
They never learn
A viscous curse, the gold they'll never earn
So they murder faster
Unaware of the rebellion people always master
One day,
The screams will go silent for the right reason
