Each day in lights and city streets,
Construction sounds that crack the air;
Or horns that break in crazy beats
At roadblocks halting everywhere.
I seek somewhere a patch of grass
Beyond a thousand concrete bridges,
A place where I shall pass
A skyline filled with mountain ridges.
But now the air is lit with steam,
The smoky mist pours in and out—
My soul’s a silent, washed-out dream,
A city asleep and filled with doubt.
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