I trudge upon the blackened streets,
(a remorse I contain,a demeanour morose)
I reflect upon thy's awful breed,
(of great lamentation,of contempt I grief)
Oh why , I pray, put me in such league ,
(of nothing but shrews , to entertain and play)
Of nothing but my stance, my conscience to meet ,
(What pain I embrace ! Fruits of malice ?!)
Emboldened by what seem to lay ,
( I rally my faith, on the days ahead)
I assure myself , of suppressed flith ,
(The article of truth , a tractable task )
But why , convince myself at bay ,
(a crush so bad , it's making me mad)
Convince myself of my future so bright ?
