Release

The City

The city never sleeps

the farmers always reap

I've fallen in too deep

the crying of the sheep

That doesn't exist anymore

the barn floor

is now a container for broken doors

built for broken homes

in shapes of pyramids and domes

where they brush their hair with plastic combs

The city never sleeps

Instead, it stays awake all night

the people claim they're alright

but they're dying inside

they die slowly, surely, throughout the day

So when it turns night they say

"let us bow our heads to pray"

"Pray for quick death, slow soul-taking

this life is too pain-staking

for these sins we are making."

The city never sleeps

and neither do I.