Pride is a street. Mercy is a building. Where simple beings march, and where they rest from marching.
Metals - heavy, hot, and loud, spiral to an elegant death in red.
Bricks - shadows on the boulevard, cast out the smoke but not the ghosts.
Pride is just a street - a rusted road to Mercy. Mercy is just a building - the cool be rid of Pride.
Always solid but never pure, Pride and Mercy decay like steel within a bitter current.
So enterprising hands repair or reinvent lest their blood be drained of iron.
Heavy, hot, and loud, simple beings march. In shadows on the boulevard, they rest from marching.
Pride is our street. Mercy is our building. Onward, we carry and build.