The Dens of Death

October 18, 2011
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The walls will always creak and moan at night,
Living in these collapsing barracks isn’t alright,
The dirt is a permanent guest around here,
That makes you cough and choke when you come near,
It fills your lungs even with a small breath,
Imagine if you lived in these Dens of Death.

The small children will always run and play,
Around these so-called “buildings” of decay,
Nothing will stop them from having some fun,
But their chances of leaving are close to none,
As from this shabby dump you might perceive,
That once you stay here you’ll never leave.

And how much do they pay as monthly rent?
Surely it’s only worth about five cents,
But “No”, the Landowners will laugh and say,
“Five dollars a month if you want to stay”,
It’s not too much for a family to afford,
But not worth it for this creaking floor board.

The stench of this place will stay with you,
And I’ll tell you, if only you knew,
There’s nothing these poor renters can say,
To be heard across this landscape of grey,
Life is hard in this tenement of wood,
Only if you were there you could’ve understood.

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