Mook - Hooded Hawks

Hooded hawks in the night, perched on city stoops
Still as silence in the dark, killers of the avenue
The tempest bird with his shrill is blinded by his broken bill

The quite scream of death ignites the oil sky
Creation sounds the people switch their menaced faces
Like pigeons in feeding circles that are the same in all places
With cynical eye, I, hooded hawk swoop a deadly descent into garbage and soot

And the quite scream of death ignites the oil sky
I am lost and forgotten, falling from the sky
Like a hooded hawk in the light