Streets bend,
flow through the haze of light.
The image is deceptive, seems false,
because it is not real.
My word comes across as tired Flickering.
The cold glow of the lanterns,
Reality dipped in red.
The darkness should be darker,
The reflection is smothered in the stone,
In an image of us' res life,
in the fiction of harmony,
in the neon light of street life,
in the red carpet of sadness,
that stretches through the alleys
and up the concrete grown,
flees into all the chambers.
Lethargy floats in the air
and everything seems to be affected.
Only the concrete stands where it grew,
with its rigid Claws,
buried deep in the ground,
draining all the color from it
and the imagination in the mind,
blocking the way into this city.
Breathe the dust away heavily Soil,
into the lungs, into the blood.
Stink of rotten animal carcasses,
the smell of the end of all courage.
Breathe heavily the acid rain,
that is pours onto the city
and flows in a small stream
directly into the last layer of earth.
So that the ground becomes poisoned
and a new stone tumor
grows out of it and blooms may,
before the green touches the ground.
So that this fiction of life
may be enthroned forever in people's minds,
and people for their work
rewarded with barren gray in gray.

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