Myth shades behind lights on that street
Toiled and strained way back to mystery
Gone, passed beasts at bay for taste amit
Sounds of horrid thirst of fresh flesh dinky
Where many mouth less had on that street
Taste the filthy sands of dead evil hiss hours
With folly stag footing way through indiscreet
Hardest struggle for sweetest reward soars
On that street, not retreat, peace, nor beseech
In the colours of life, these mulct all pertain
Numerous dreams that may not let a sleep
Only the contorting minds strife, reaps gain
Will ever thee hide from life’s toil for still?
Nor off, on that street with unrest effort walk
Through penury in taciturn swift sooth drill
For hardest struggles earn sweetest crumb.