[Lyrics: Francis, Moyses/Music:Francis]
Alone in their destination
Wandering thru this violent life
A part of all misconseption from their past
And now thrown out to the street to rot
Painful screams never heard
Hung on the wings of death
Germs are what they seem
For the rich they have no need
Left in the cold in crucial places
Feeling the horrors of real life
Places to places, no where to go
Agonizing pain and no one seems to care
Trying to revive'em for a higher place
But no one seems to give any support
They hear their torment call
Disarmen from an endless war
Aimed by all kinds of poverty
Vagabonds you will find in all types of societies
Resting in thew underground of this materialistic inferno
Alone in their destination
Wandering thru this violent life
A part of all misconseption from their past
And now thrown out to the street to rot
Painful screams never heard
Hung on the wings of death
Germs are what they seem
For the rich they have no need
Left in the cold in crucial places
Feeling the horrors of real life
Places to places, no where to go
Agonizing pain and no one seems to care
Trying to revive'em for a higher place
But no one seems to give any support
They hear their torment call
Disarmen from an endless war
Aimed by all kinds of poverty
Vagabonds you will find in all types of societies
Resting in thew underground of this materialistic inferno