Tall lonely skyscrapers,
Horny miserable men.
A travesty of parodies,
A modern city often.
The squalor is hidden,
Right under the shadows.
The gleaming towers of wealth,
The wretched human sorrows.
Modern measures are shallow,
Interests selfish and narrow.
A precarious hollow of make believe,
A society of disease follow.
The put upon artifice of culture,
Of trade and various tongues.
Fewer grasp meaning in things,
A mockery of history undone.
I don't see how the superficial glee,
An aching achievement at best.
Sooner you stop pretending,
It's better the fake progress to rest.
