By Matt Cook
The streets are busy,
I’m dizzy,
Can someone give me,
A cup of tea,
To calm me,
Can’t disarm me,
The billboards charm me,
Subliminally harm me,
They’re scarring me,
To my living they’re marring me;
I’m yearning for a change,
Want to be turning away,
From the burning of the day,
Learning to be afraid,
Ever since the centre of world trade;
Was hit by the planes,
Corporations made gains,
From a nations pains,
Wars not the same;
Privatisation comes into play,
Companies are the sway in conflicts today,
The city is the breeding ground molded out of clay,
All around me is grey,
Separated by advertisements glitzy spray,
All through the night and day,
Seared into our minds and there they stay,
With our desires they play;
Our needs fade,
Our wants take centre stage.
Rats in a maze,
Part of the consumerist parade;
Scrimp and scrape,
It’s hard to shake,
The designer makes,
The lights and fakes,
A city of high stakes,
Burgers and shakes,
Little parks, little lakes;
Natures grave,
A petri dish for fights and frays,
Wait there, brake there, another delay,
We are the needle this is the stack of hay,
Can’t find yourself in a city that’s built around pay,
Avoiding the crowds most of the day;
On a borderline mental catastrophe,
Struggling to think accurately,
Doing my best not to act critically,
Trying to move practically,
What do we crave actually?
Living in the city regrettably,
All the business men need vasectomies,
Stop them producing slave work destined new born babies,
The city is crazy,
Working 7-6 daily;
No time to appreciate the flowers or the trees,
The still and the breeze,
Living in traffic makes it hard to breathe,
Listen to me wheeze,
Staying here just to earn some bees,
To pay the fees,
Of living free,
In a democracy.