Orphans of the living

From the sounds of the lost souls,
Moving closer than the realms of ending misery,
Then, there comes another autonomy,
Of a ginnery, as young boys
Living like old gizery,
Smoking red rum, as the orphans of the living,
Living a dumb, numb life,
As Glocks behind miniature
Whereas, ex-killer loving me
Like never before...
Heart of the immortal, eyes of the splendid,
Tearing blood from black smoke
And then, my dearest own villain,
Waking her own
Footprints as grounded on a dumb seed,
The bad boys screaming ohhhh
As orphans of living,
More than a snake like when mad,
Swaying ghost ways,
Calling then products of torn condoms.
Whilst did nothing to their birth,
But found living as dead ,
Killing for tje crib, to make
Them stay anonymously true.

With the only choice either decide to live,
Or remain undecided to fulfill it
And beyond my recognition,
Living a life of a king ,
But, through cruelty so as to be more kind,
To them as we take our heads above water,
And be called orphans of the dead
And to live highly confused ,
Then later call us protagonists
And that's true,.

Withe the majestic fantasy,
Of the small bigger picture
And the heart of the mate,
Everyone loves to live
As a tragic hero from Sophocles
Living an awful GoodLife, fullest
And beyond that imitations will remain
The spirit of the orphans of the living.....