**Cycles of Surrender**

In the shadowed halls where power dwells,

The strong, with iron hands, compel,

They push the masses, bent and torn,

From fields of hope where dreams are born.

The weak, in corners, softly cry,

Birthed by fear beneath the sky,

Their voices tremble, frail and thin,

Crushed by the weight of others' sin.

Yet stronger still, the vile and proud,

Wrap chains of gold, their heads unbowed,

They feast on flesh, on blood-stained bread,

While justice bleeds, while mercy's dead.

The cycle spins, the wheel of woe,

Where truth is lost, where shadows grow,

And in the end, all stand alone,

Capitulated, flesh and bone.

For when the strong, corrupt, arise,

They birth the weak, they snuff the skies,

And all is lost, the earth laid bare,

In endless night, despair's cold lair.