This city aint pretty with your names in it.

This city aint pretty with your names in it.

Walls of Rome, ancient and all seeing have tales of political uprising.
Bursting through its stones and every being,scratched out memories telling of old horizons.
The marks of true Graffito hold strong, warning of tyrants and social injustices.
Wordsmiths that were not scared of being wrong.
Now the 'tags' on our streets act as terrortorial piss.
Fences, bus stops, shop doors, desolate houses and black bins,
No more, this city aint pretty with your names in it.
My eyes crack over pen inked persons in permanent stink.
No thought for the citizens right to personal ownership.
Forged feuds in signature above signature must be better than the rest.
All this stencilled competition leaves no time for what this urbis really can think.
Give me, give us all questions that put us to the test.
Cathedrals,churches,pub gates, job centres and cash machines.
No more,this city aint pretty with your names in it.
These unsung now become famous to a few for their definaces.
Front page of local rag detailing their real names and proud faces.
Bravery false in their chest as they sign half written words in all places.
If the concrete could speak, it would ask of these vigilantes,
write about the wars, tortures,hopelessness of this world.
Not your name on your way home from a comfortable night out at the shops.
Schools, swimming pools, police stations, community centres, souls, eyes and our throughts.
No More this city aint pretty with your names in it.