A poem for the city of hell

Verse 1:
Fifty-four years later, Rua da Banca where I was born,
In a rented wattle and daub house, left forlorn.
Garbage, mud, sewage, no sidewalks, just grime,
Difference is Tete's brega seems to have died.

Relentless sun burns memories, drives residents away,
Jequié's wasting away, no blood, vital organs decay.
People drag last hopes to the church gates,
A cemetery city where the dead walk, sealed fates.

Chorus:
City of hell, where dreams fall apart,
Life's a struggle, but no one feels the heart.
Running from fate, losing sanity,
Burying dreams alive, that's reality.

Verse 2:
Insistent lunatics run for office, no clue,
Others lurking, waiting for their move.
People eat stones, rest on embers,
Dream of a grave, life in shambles.

Ghost roads cut through the town's beat,
Haunts keep appearances, never retreat.
Rivers of rot feed local markets,
Threads of despair nourish the targets.

Chorus:
City of hell, where dreams fall apart,
Life's a struggle, but no one feels the heart.
Running from fate, losing sanity,
Burying dreams alive, that's reality.

Verse 3:
Demons cast out from temples return each night,
Ensuring audience, draining the last dime.
Financial support, they sustain the illusion,
And I flee from fate, lost in confusion.

Chorus:
City of hell, where dreams fall apart,
Life's a struggle, but no one feels the heart.
Running from fate, losing sanity,
Burying dreams alive, that's reality.