Streets of Yesterday’s Rage** I walked through the streets of yesterday’s rage, Where the walls were scarred like an old torn page. The bricks still echoed with the cries of the lost, And the truth lay buried beneath the frost. There were shadows of battles that never were won, And ghosts of the voices that sang to the sun. The winds carried whispers of promises made, But they fell like the leaves, forgotten and frayed. Oh, the streets of yesterday’s rage, my friend, Where the start feels just like the end. The clocks don’t tick, and the bells don’t chime, It’s a place outside of reason and time. I saw a preacher with a Bible that bled, Preachin’ to the masses ‘bout the road ahead. But his words turned hollow, like a rusted chain, And the rain washed his sermons down the drain. The beggar on the corner had a tale to sell, ‘Bout the night he danced with the gates of hell. But nobody listened, they just walked on by, Too busy watchin’ the gray in the sky. Oh, the streets of yesterday’s rage, so cold, Where the young grow tired, and the old grow bold. The lines on the pavement are cracks in the soul, Each one a reminder of what they stole. I met a girl with a tear in her eye, Said she’d lost her dreams to a world’s goodbye. She held out her hand, but it turned to dust, Like the hope that once was but now breeds distrust. The lamplight flickered, and the alleys moaned, With the weight of the stories that no one owned. And I walked on, with my shadow in tow, Through the rubble of a world I used to know. Oh, the streets of yesterday’s rage, they cry, For the hearts that broke, for the reasons why. But the past don’t answer, and the truth won’t stay, So I’ll keep walkin’, just to find my way.
