They kill them. In the end, they kill them. They push them, but hope they don't get out. Freeing homes from foundations, liberating limbs from lives and consciousness with the cackel or bombs raining down. They kill them. In the end, they kill them. They cut the queue, shut the gate, force another route. They watch them sink on the way. If they make it this far, they kill them from the inside, push them so far, they want to die. Fragrant poison, slide down their throat. Choke. They want to choke. I bring the rays, a wire, a right to their skin. They cannot wait in definite years. Matresses all around. Jump. They told them to jump. They kill them. In the end. They kill them. Or at least hide them, bury them in deserts behind fences, ignored and forgotten, eroding their humanity away. Unless they can't be pacified. We join them, pulling the fences wide. They can't kill them. In the end, they can't kill them. They're menace. Rit these cages from their foundations, liberate their lives with their limbs. They'll starve. Force you to want them to eat. Force you to take to the streets. They'll show you their scars, to show you their alive. They can't kill them. In the end, they can't kill them. Their stories won't go away. These images won't go away. The very fact that they human will not go away. They struggle with us. With rays of wire cast aside, will not die. They can't kill them. In the end, they can't kill them.