Dead City

Where are we? how did we get here?
The smell of putrid flesh drives most blessed away,
Our rotten souls stuck in this hell of devilish men,
What grips us is fear, our only escape is a pen,
This dead city is more alive than most,
The streets lined with our bones and dust,
Can we find devinity amongst incidity?
I don't know and I don't care,
For it was my own wretched deeds that paid my fare