No future, no children, no money, no wife.
Hope slaughtered like a stock of swine,
Always falling for fake signs.
The stench of cigarettes lingers;
The stench of failure on your fingers.
Surrounded by mistakes and regrets,
Drowning in the vacuum of endless debts.
You plea for a sample of fresh air,
Just one breath for the world to spare.
But it steps on your battered, bruised chest,
And swallows what future you have left.
Caught between the weight of defeat,
Fearful for the next face you greet,
You crawl back to your helpless mind�
And pray for a God to give you a sign.
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