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[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 [Chorus:] From Letras Mania