Humans are statistics,
At least the theory of Census has it proven.
Humanity is an under-calculated standard
And humility an undefined central
My streets have turned to monsters.
Where then must we walk,
With a sense of safety and security?
For every street is a death ground,
Every corner a witness of mankind’s brutality,
Soil, a harbour of blood pools,
And my mates, murderers of man.
They break into our rooms,
Rape and kill our fellow girls,
And massively beat our brothers to the pulp.
Yet culture defends them, the males.
The law defends them, the minors.
Where then should we hide,
Escape from this narcissistic society?
For no mask is masculine enough
To protect us.
Our streets cry with us, a melodious note
With no listener.