Quite a canon folk,

who have a really

crooked mentality of power,

murder is the muscle,

and their punch

is deception

The city swarms

with shadows,

the domain,

a hive of evil,

where the bees

sting like death,

they beat mercy

till it flees from their heart

with red-hot defiance

in their eyes,

they are breathing furnace,

talking inferno

that unleash hell

upon a decayed heaven;

peace is an old corpse

buried in the

graveyard of negligence,

long forgotten

by the code of hostility

They think their immune,

but the angels weep

but the grim reaper laughs,

as Satan upgrades his pawns

in this grim chess.

By Kakraba Afful