The city looked at its most uninviting in the morning. It was half past seven and the traffic chaos reigned over the cold, wet, grey streets. Cars along cars, barely moving one behind the other, formed a rather claustrophobic picture, much as a cow herd lined up to be slaughtered. But the morning was the best part of the day when one could flee. One could easily get lost between the waves of people using trams or buses to reach work or any other destination. And he was now getting immersed into full anonimity of faces, characters, bodies moving in chaos but at the same time coordinated like in a ballet.
He was leaving town, face buried deep in his foulard, a sad yet afraid couple eyes. He didn't know where he was going, neither did he want to know. He just wanted to get away. He was fleeing. It didn't matter he still had a few belongings left in his apartment, the backpack he was carrying felt like it comprised more than enough to start a new life, a new vision on things, maybe even a new name, a complete new identity, a new him. He hadn't taken much in his backpack, yet it felt so heavy, almost dragging him backwards, thus he felt like stopping, to regain his breath and strength.
He checked his pocket again for the envelope. He had to make sure he'd not lose it. That was the door to a new beggining, a new something he wasn't quite sure of, but what he thought he'd get a hold of, eventually. The white-blue striped envelope contained 280 thousand euros and he was given it a week before. It had taken him four days of thinking, battling his own self, making up plans and whatnot. He had come to the conclusion that was better to take the money and run, there was no escape otherwise. The men that had payed him were not playing and they had made him a promise no sane person would ignore. Their ''offer'' contained , amongst others, the words ''kill'', ''you'', ''if'' and ''not''.
''I've done something wrong!'' he kept repeating to himself in a hush voice, while constantly feeling the envelope resting in his pocket.
But what about his parents, his family, his friends. There was no way they could've been bought, they were quite a few. Someone from his entourage at work would notice his absence but the deal was that he was not to talk to anyone or let anyone know he was leaving. In a sense he was leaving forever, so there was no need to leave a phone number or adress where he could be reached.The place towards he was heading probably did not have any of these appliances, it didn't matter. Especially when himself didn't know which way his destiny might take him.
''I've done a bad thing!'' . He started imagining the discussions his acquaintances would have, with him as major subject, the things they'd say about him, the ''cowardness'' stamp they'd apply to his persona. But they weren't in his position, nor would they want to.
He boarded the first bus he could catch, blending with other pale faces, faces that somehow showed they were running too. From what, he didn't know, nor care. All he had in mind now was to get to the train station, grab any train randomly and see where that gets him. There was no time to write down itineraries and destinations. He had no time. He had actually left a day later than the term he was given.
He took a seat, guarding closely his pocket and tilted his head to the side, trying to forget he was a fugitive from a crime he hadn't commited. But soon most of the eyes of his fellow bus travellers dove onto him, making him hear little voices ''what have you done?'' ; ''why did you take the money?'' ; '' go back and face your responsability''.
But he couldn't go back. Just like he knew he couldn't do anything a week earlyer, standing there, frozen, silent, afraid, being the only witness to a murder.He couldn't do anything then, what possibly could he do now?
By the time he had started hesitating going to the police, the murderer and his accomplices already had found him, threatening him, giving him deadlines.In the end the killer had agreed to paying him so he can vanish, hence his murder was needed, not accidentally and did not want anybody else's blood on his hands. He had called himself a ''business man''. One that had businesses all over the city, wether it'd be drugs-affiliated or prostitution based. He was not a person to play games with, surely, although he wore a suit and tie and looked half-reasonable.
The bus stopped at its destination. More people zig-zagging across the streets, trying to get a free seat in one of the departing trains. He didn't even look at the panels above him as he entered the station, instead he sky-rocketed towards the train that looked the most crowded. Hopefully he'd have no more eyes pointing at him.
His running was leaving a cold-blooded murderer on the loose, minding his business, whatever that was, maybe even going to attempt a ''number 2'' crime, assuming that the one he'd witnessed was the killer's first one.
What did it mean going back? Speaking to the local authorities, tell them everything he'd seen and expect them to believe him, much less give him some protection. But the police might have been bought and he'd go right into the wolves' mouth, this time with no chance to escape with 80 thousand euros in his pocket. By leaving all behind, he was at least sure he'd get over what he'd seen and get on with his life. His family and friends would understand eventually, if he's ever let them know. But what if the killer's entourage had so many powerfull connections that by the time he'd give a new fate to his life their tentacles of greed and violence would spread till they'd catch him. His thoughts were zig-zagging all directions like a ping-pong ball. Balancing the truth and the odds was quite a tough task. He was getting a taste of a life he'd spend in hiding, doubting the very own departure and choice.
He looked out the window as the train started to get in motion and familiar places were left behind, forming a certain nostalgic feeling mixed with deep sorrow.
At around 15 minutes mark after the train had left the station he got off, boarded another train in the opposite direction and took his heart in hand, chewing heavily on his lips.
He wasn't sure the thought of running away from his responsabilities was the kosher thing to do. He wasn't trying to be a hero, at all, just be fair to himself.
His pace became swifter and a lot more nervous as he cruised through the morning streets. He knew exactly where he was going, yet a sentiment of a ''first time'' was bewildering him.
He arrived at the police station, not yet buzzing with people, may they be the prosecuted, the arrested or the ones just doing their jobs. He climbed the stairs till the second floor of the precinct and went to the information desk.
-I need to talk with whoever's in charge! he said sweating heavily
-Is anything wrong, sir? a bored voice responded from the other side
-I said I need to talk with whoever's in charge, miss! It's urgent and highly important.
-Sir, please take a seat on the bench behind you, one of my colleagues will get your name and seek to help you with your urgent matter. Thank you.
The bench behind him had one older lady seated, the type that goes to the police cause her cat got up in a tree, but she looked as if she had been waiting there for ten years, the least.
-Listen, miss, I'm not getting seated on no bench, I haven't got time to wait, I've been witnessing a murder, you either get me to the captain or I'll have to find him myself.
The woman behind the desk put the phone down and looked him in the eyes for the first time.
-Come with me, please.
She led him up to the fifth floor, where the captain was buried in paperwork, cussing right and left.
She knocked on the door.
-Not now, I'm busy! a growled man shouted from inside
She opened the door, enough to peek and spoke.
-I'm sorry, sir, but I've got here a person who wants to see you. He says it's important and won't speak with anybody else but you.
-I said I'm busy now. I've got so much paperwork to figure about, plus the mayor's up my ass so deep on the Ritter case that he's touching my vocal cords. Who the fuck is this lunatic and what does he want?
-He won't say , sir!
-Great, another son-in-law......Send the fruitcake in, if you hear me cuss more than normally, call up the boys. And next time do your job, don't bring anyone up if I've got a thousand things to settle. Ok? Miss?
-Yes, sir...
-Let him in...
The captain pushed some dossiers to the side so he could see this man when he'd be seated in front of him. The man entered cautiously, closed the door eficiently and looked around.
-Are you the person in charge?
-What do you mean? Yes, I'm the captain, I'm in charge of this precinct, of the persons that work inside this precinct, of the services provided in this precinct. How can I be of your assistance?
-Is it safe to talk?
The captan raised his hands above his head.
-The interogatory room is two floors below. My office has written ''captain'' on its front door. I'm listening...
The captain grimaced.
The man took a seat and leaned forward.
-I've seen a murder happen. I've seen the killer's face. I'm the only witness. And I know who the killer is...
-Ok..the captain responded uninterested but wanting to hear more of the loon's ''problem'' before having him thrown out his office.
-I don't know his name, but he's been in papers, I'm sure I'll recognise him from there.
-Well, we've got the database.
-I don't think he's ever been arrested or prosecuted before, he's a businessman.
-So you've seen a businessman kill a person......the captain sucked on his teeth. How come you know he's not in our database and how the hell do you know he's a businessman? Where were you when this ''crime'' occured?
-Listen, it happened more than a week ago, there will be some details I might not remember 100% spot on, but I just wanna make sure I'll have 100% cooperation from you and the department and security.
-Wait, you witnessed a crime a week ago and you come tell us now? the captain almost jumped out his chair. What the fuck were you doing up till now? Minding your own business, going fishing?
-Listen , I didn't know what to do. I was approached by these guys who offered me money to keep my mouth shut and my head on my shoulders and pretend I had never seen what happened there and then. I was confused at first, then afraid, afraid, afraid and so on. That's why I need protection. If I testify and the case goes to court, which I'm sure it's bound to happen, I want to feel safe entering the justice hall leaving my house, police station, supermarket or any other landmark I'm at. Deal?
The captain looked unconvinced by the whole story.
-Ok, we'll get the bad guy-guys, no worries. I'm still bugged bout the fact you took money, that makes you an accomplice to murder.
-What the hell are you on? Accesory to murder? I was trying to get away from something I don't want to be part of and now you're treating me as if I'm the murderer. Realise this, the killer is a cold-blooded person that'll do anything, and I suppose having his power and money and place in society really does get him that advantage, thus me bailing out on any ''normal'' responsabilities any ''normal'' citizen has when witnessing a crime occur is pretty much legitimate, to me at least. How many people out there on the streets do you see raising their hands yelling ''I've seen a crime, I'm a witness, the killer knows me, I've got two kids but I'll testify and point him out to you cause all I wanna do is my job as a tax-paying citizen!''. Not even one, everybody's scared. We're talking my life here, and I've seen how quickly a life can be erased off...In a nutshell, I didn't want to be-I didn't feel like being his next victim. For what, medal of honour?!
The man leaned back.
-Ok, alright, we'll leave that on the side for now.
-So, can I get protection if I testify.....?
-I'm pretty much sure we can offer you security till the whole process is due finish, all I'm interested in now is pointing the finger at the right person. Are you sure you can still remember his face when seeying a photo of him? Are you sure you can confirm the killer when you see him?
-Yes! Otherwise I wouldn't be here...
The captain stood from his chair.
-Good, I'll go call one of the officers to bring you to the data base room and then go to the morgue, maybe you can identify any of the recent John Doe as the victim. In the meantime I want you to remember what was he wearing, anything particular about his speach or just any other detail that might give away his identity. Please excuse me now, wait here.
-Ok.
The captain left his office in swift-mode for about quarter of an hour only to return with a bulk of folded pages with names and photos.
While he was away, the man started looking around and outside the policeman's office, cautiously, trying to figure out if he'd been followed or was out the danger zone. He then started flipping through the pages of the daily newspaper that layed atop the captain's desk. Boring sentences about uninteresting events or subjects formed the majority of topics the newspaper covered. There was just one article at the bottom of the third page, in the Economics part of the paper, written in small but bold letters that caught his attention. It read ''Billionaire owner and CEO of Ritter Industries makes partnership for future chain of realty agencies''. A small, almost indescifrable,black&white photo stood on the right side of the article, a man with a smile took out of toothpaste ads being the person portrayed. He recognised the man who he was running from, the one that had paid him to keep his mouth shut. The clock ticked and tocked, and the captain re-entered his office. He put the cup of coffee down and threw the papers in front of the seated man.
-Alright, these are a few people we want you to look at, they're not exactly businessmen, as you put it, but you can never know. Unfortunately the data base room is a bit crowded at the moment so we'll do with these for now. Plus I've got you an appointment at the morgue in an hour from now, so let's get this over with.
-I'm afraid those names and the photos won't be necessary anymore. I've got you a name already. And a face.
-Really? You're not a magician when you're not witnessing murders, are you? Let me hear it.
The man tossed the newspaper to the cop.
-Page three, bottom, left corner. That's your man...
The captain went through the article and asked after a while.
-Who?
-Him!
-Him who?
He paused, looked at the photo and then stared into the nameless man's eyes.
-You must be joking? Pete Ritter? The billionaire? You've seen him murder someone? the captain almost burst into laughter.
-Yes, it's him.The photo might be a tad bit blurry but it's him, I tell you. Now, I remember he argued the victim about a joint venture with a company, but the man he killed wasn't actually thrilled with his ideas. I suppose he was a pawn standing in the way of something much bigger than business differences, so that's why he had to take him out. The way he did it though, looked as if it was his profession.
The cop smiled.
-And you might know that ''profession''........You really want me to believe that Pete Ritter, a filthy rich man, with an impressive background on charity and city economy development has personally pulled the trigger and killed a man cause he din't agree with his business agenda? Are you a fucking lunatic? He's got the money and power to deal with any magnate in the country, yet you tell me he's killing business partners. Do you really know who Ritter is? Across the past 12 years he's been almost single-handedly turning this city in a thriving , booming economic center, allowing jobs to be given to...what, maybe a couple million people? Not to mention the charity work he's known for or all other activities he's been part of. Well, excuse me, but I just don't buy it. Are you one of his employees, trying to throw dirt onto everything he's worked for just cause he's denied you a raise? What?
-Fine, you don't believe me. Just have one of your men sent to Magmun Street, that's where you'll find the gun he's used, along with his prints on the gun. The bullet will match the one of the John Doe I'm gonna identify. Then, call me crazy.
The captain looked even more unconvinced than before. He felt he wasn't doing his job, just following an unknown man's rant, that involved the most powerfull citizen of the city, the President's equal in the area. He felt like hearing stories about the President's smoking weed days in college. Utter bullshit.
-Ok, let me give a few calls and get my men to work. Don't move from here, though! Don't move!
The cop exited his office again, shouting at his men, making threats that people will get fired and whatnot.
The man waited and waited, anxiously, figuring the police must've gone already to the killer's house to arrest him. He wasn't far from the truth.
When the captain came back, he bore a victorious smile on his face.
-What took you so long? the man asked.
-Police work does take a lot of time, Nick. It seems your story checked out..
-How the fuck do you know my name?
-Cause I've told him who you are, Nick......
A deep, manly voice was heard a split second later, as Pete Ritter, clad in 30 thousand euros Burberry suit, matching with custom-made Armani shoes, entered the office, followed by three of his bodyguards that took no blinking time to strap Nick to the chair and apply a short lesson of manners consisting in a few swift but heavy punches to his liver and chin.
-Captain, could I have some privacy , please? Me and the gentlemen here, have to talk business issues, said Ritter.
He took a seat in the policeman's chair and smiled at Nick.
-You must be really stupid, Nick, to throw away those two hundred eighty thousand and come here, with your chest up front, bursting dignity and social pride or whatever to give me in. I thought you'd be more intelligent than going to the police. At least you've shown you're pretty smart in all the missions I've given you, except one, of course. But to go to the cops? Bad mistake, bad one , indeed. What were you thinking? Mind you, I don't reckon you could've gone any place else, but still...
-You prick!
-How the hell do you think I've created my business empire? You might not need be reminded that everything needs authorizations, papers legalised, relationships, bureaucracy. Handshakes not so legal. Handshakes that guarantee payments to those people that keep things flowing like honey on a buttered piece of bread. Business needs to blossom and be kept alive, I don't need a hibernation season. Did you really think I hadn't payed the police up till now? Or the judges, attorneys? After all these years? I own the city, I've built it, I've created a large share of its economy with my bare hands. Hands that helped other hands and other hands and in the end there's this chain of hands that's impenetrable, and each hand does its part, having a piece afterwards, of course. You've worked for me, you know how these things work, don't you look at me that way, Nick! You're more guilty than me on this, and you know it!
-I know it my ass, you killed that man! I ain't guilty with shit.
-Let's not play the saint-part now, Nick. It was you that pulled the trigger, you're the murderer, you should be in jail now. But no, I give you 280 thousand, which is not a small sum by any means, tell you to lay low, and you go to the police to spray shit in my face? What kind of a fucking reward is that? Good thing the captain knows me, I actually had a convention down at the Wharf but run up till here to see what's going on. The captain has got a few rotten twigs within his branches that are not on payroll, but at the end they'll either be or be forced to find another job. Cause, who are they gonna rat on, their own superiors to their own superiors.That'd mean losing their jobs anyhow.
-So, what do you want now? Frame me and let the police take care of me? It'd be just the same process as you taking care of me. Are you gonna shoot me in public? These people might be on your payroll but seeying you shoot one that works for you might be a bit of a let-down. They might see themselves in my shoes one day, which would not be very pleasant, surely. You might get your whole posse turning against you with spears and a vengeance.
-''Has worked''......You don't work for me anymore, Nick. Which is a let-down, I might add. But you don't know my posse, as you call it. And I ain't letting no one starve, you know that...How the hell would they turn against me? They've got jobs...You think you had gotten me in a net, forming ideas about me based on your thoughts and the relationship we've had? You think you could draw a character portrait of me, Nick? C'mon, it's me , Pete! I'm ambiguous cause I have to, cause I want to, cause I am that! Besides, that ''crime'' there really got me hyped over using guns. I had thought money can make people disarm themselves and I never had to use any, I had you all to do that, but holding that gun really reminded me of the sheer power it has. It's great! It fascinates me so much that I'm really gonna start using it more often, thanks to you. Why should I allow my ''posse'' to have more fun than me? Ain't that right, Rob?
Ritter's bodyguard didn't flinch.
Nick-something tried to loosen his body from the strap, to no good results.
-Listen, Pete, cut the bullshit. We're not here to play chess, are we? If that's the case, send one of your boys to get me a fresh squized orange juice while we're at it.
A couple more fists plunged into Nick's left ribs.
-That's enough, Rob, please, said Ritter.
He opened the paper that stood in front of him. Didn't find anything interesting to read till page three, bottom left.
-That man was opposing the idea of merge. I couldn't have that, I'm a businessman. I've been one for twenty years, why should I stop being good at something just cause a minor bump in the road makes my car go slower. You see, that person was like a needle and nobody likes needles. They're small, you can barely see them but they cause so much pain, it's ironic. So that needle had made my tire go flat. I couldn't have that. All I had to do was get rid of the needle in the tire and throw the tire away. Which I've done, with your help, even though it was a quarter of a helping hand....Now I'm running on a new tire on the route of good business again . I won't bother you with any details, let's just say the ''needle'' story is an overall attribute I would've given that man. When you're in my position you can't think of any other alternative, there just isn't any. Follow me?!
Ritter lifted his head from the paper.
Nick, with his nose bleeding and fairly beaten, didn't look as fierce as he once used to.
-Thing is I've always liked you, Nick, that's the truth. You had that passion, that drive that nobody else in my crew, up till you and probably after you, has. The way you carried out the missions was genius. Now, good Rob here might pack a better punch than you, I'm sure, but he hasn't got quite the finesse you had and I suppose you still have. No offence, Rob.
The bodyguard didn't flinch, nod nor move in any way that made his employer's statement agreeable or not.
Ritter carried on his speech.
-What I'm saying is this: I'll give you two hours to run, hide, prepare, fuck, piss or whatever. After that, we'll be on your ass. If you manage to take out all my men then it's a bravo for you! Not only that, but you'll keep the 280 thousand and you'll never hear from me again. I'll close the books, and that's that. If I see you on the street I don't know you, I don't say hi, I don't shake your hand. Understood?
Nick nodded.
-Let me guess, there's a counter-offer with that, too, innit...
Ritter smiled.
-If you can't make it against my men, well...I've said it all already. Your time starts....now! Get the fuck out of here. We'll watch you so don't even come up with a stupid plan!
Ritter's men let Nick go. While he descended the stairs he felt dizzy, having too much information to cope with, that he had to sort into useful things that might help in his tactics.
The businessman and his men were discussing their own plan, that came with a strenght: it never failed.
-I'm quite sorry that a good boy like Nick had to go. I had big things planned for him.
-Why don't you let me handle this, sir. Me alone, I don't need these muppets.....the lumberjack-looking bodyguard asked Ritter.
Pete sighed.
-Cause you Rob are a brute! Try to be a businessman, like me. If you have to fight, physically I mean, why not let the others fight for you, with you being the winner anyhow.
Ritter and Rob smiled.
Nick had to think what to do. Ritter's words ''don't try anything stupid, we're watching you'' echoed in his mind. He had to gather all knowledge he had to get up front. He was aware of having two thugs keeping a close eye on him so the phone calls he'd make or the actions he'd start better be good ones. Of course, the years spent in the Elite Forces would certainly be helpful, most likely Ritter and his men wouldn't know what hit them as soon as the game would start. He actually thought being the stalked one was an advantage.
He tried to lose the two gorillas for enough time to make an important phone call.
-It's me, I need all the help you can give me at the moment. Guns, ammo, surveillance. You owe me anyhow. First, take the two monkeys off my back and give me a secure place. One's wearing a striped leather jacket and jeans, the other a brown hoodie and baggies. They're about 6'5 tall and maybe 20 meters behind me. Call me back on this number but be discrete about what you talk about.
-Welcome back, falcon. Nice to hear from you again, the mysterious voice on the other end said.
Half hour later the two thugs had dissapeared in an instance and Nick had been provided with a safe house, overlooking the police station and the captain's office in which Ritter was doing his reckoning.
He now had binoculars, enough guns and ammo to start a war. He already had the expertise.
Through the binoculars' lens he saw Ritter make phone calls to what he presumed to be the thugs. He didn't look very happy when no one answered. And he looked even more on the brink of having a seizure when Nick sent him a message ''Let's dance, it's what you wanted''.
Ritter soon stormed out of his office, followed by his cohort of bodyguards yelling and screaming.
-How the fuck did you lose him? Where is he?
Nick hesitated for a moment. He had Ritter on sight and it'd take one split second for the bullet to reach his former employer's cranium and make a mess around him if he'd pull the trigger on his sniper rifle.
''I'm gonna leave you for the end, Pete.''
He smiled. He was starting to have fun with it.
When Ritter got in the car and started driving to an unknown destination, Nick put a bullet each into the two guards on each side of Ritter on the back seat. The limo suddenly braked.
-What the fuck?!!? Ritter screamt. Rob, the bastard must be in one of the buildings behind us. Pronto, get him!
No guard left any other car, Nick shot continuous fire onto them, tires deflating, shrapnels ricocheting, people dying.
Nick laughed.
''C'mon, Pete, show me what you got!''
Rob managed to get behind the wheel and turn the car around and, although under heavy rain of bullets he stopped below the building Nick was using as sniper place.
Rob's bulky body made his way through doors, head-kicking anything that looked as an opponent, even inanimate.
Nick called his mysterious friend again.
-Look, he's inside the building, but I can't take him, no visibility. My ribs are broken, so no hand combat, besides I'm leaving the last bullet for Ritter. Take care of him, will you?
-Roger that, Nick ol' boy. Will do so.
Nick's friend had positioned himself in another building, a few blocks away, watching the action take pace calmly but always ready to get into battle-mode.
Rob didn't reach the second floor out of six when he got shot in his right arm, making him drop his gun.
''How many of you fuckers are you?'' he grunted. He retrieved his gun with his left hand and continued climbing the stairs.
''You just won't give up...'' Nick's friend thought.
The second shot hit Rob's left arm, making him stop.
''Time to say good-bye, big boy..''
Two seconds later Rob made his final halt, when his face hit the cold pavement. He should've left the others fight first. There was nobody else left, though, just Ritter in the back seat of his limo, looking scared and covered with his guards' blood.
-The big guy is out, Nick. Ritter's getting out of the car. Want me to get him too..?
-No, he's mine. Thank you. Get out of here.
-No sweating, see you around.
Nick cluched the trigger, having the image of a Ritter with his hands raised, slighly shaking, through his lens. The red dot from the rifle changed position on Ritter's blood-covered suit, but he didn't notice it just before it was too late. The red dot merged with the blood that shot out Ritter's head, making him collapse to the ground, first on his knees, then plunging with his whole body ahead.
'' And I'm keeping the 200 thou, motherfucker!''
Nick took the headphones and glasses off and put the rifle on a side. He could barely stand, the hits to the liver and ribs were just about now making themselves present in his organism. He took a deep breath ans started couching. He coughed blood. Where was it coming from? He soon felt blood pouring out of a wound in his stomach, that must've hit the liver. He didn't feel it, just though it was there. He had taken two bullets from his old partner. The same one he had covered for a murder of a kid and for which he had gotten fired from the Elite Forces. He, of all people, should've seen it coming. His ''friend'' had given him a building which could be seen from his position, but the place where he had shot from was out of Nick's vision. Even it it were, his last bullet had taken care of Ritter.
''I guess you were right, Pete''.
-Nick, are you still there, buddy? a voice was heard in the headphones.
Nick tried to reach for them, but couldn't.
-I appreciate what you've done for me and all, but there's no way I can let you get out of here, not after this, at least. You went after your boss, what could've stopped you from coming after me , afterwards, would be the next man's guess. You know how these things work. It's an off-operation operation. Good-bye, ol' friend.
Those were the last words Nick heard before his eye lids closed forever.
Far away from the building massacre, people were minding their businesses, trying to flee the city, trying to flee the feeling of being trapped in a grey city that consumed its inhabitants and that fed on the blood that crept into the pavements, into the asphalt, into the buildings, making working places more evil and the persons working inside too. The grey city had taken a few more lives in its dark and greedy heart, giving the remaining inhabitants no chance to survive.
Running away from everything was inevitable.
THE END
APPENDIX.
The grey city with its unnerving grip
won't let you go, won't let you run
won't give a chance, nor let you keep
your life, this is a world without sun.
each day you feel sick and coughing
each day you start from scratch, from zero
you'll see the city enjoy its laughing
cause it is master, you're no hero.
All rights reserved Tuemckey 2009.
