Friday, March 25, 2011

Scratch the Surface

Standing on the bridge and looking at the sky
I think I’m lucky living in this city
I look at the ground and see a big brown rat
And his beady black eyes looking back at me – so what do I see?

I hide and watch The City’s animals
Running to their urban cages, each alone
I linger at the edge as they stampede past
And I ponder on this place I call my home – minding my own

And scratching the surface

A gentle wind down from the river blows
Last week’s local headlines, tumbling to my knees
Scandals and murders and muggings and more
Just remind me that the city’s full of sleaze – this city bleeds

Sometimes I wonder, “should I get away?”
To escape and find a space where I can breathe
Deep down I know I guess I’ll never go
‘Cos I belong right here just as it belongs in me... it’s my city


Part of the rat race
Part of the fast pace
Part of the displaced
Part of the point lace

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