The morter cracks
All that we’ve built
Was never built to last
Murmur
an open window
The courtyard
a silent witness
I have to flee this tomb
This concrete womb
Which bears seclusion
discontent
I’ll just head
To where
the former occupants went
“The tripe tripled this year”
The newspaper heading says
Morality
ripped to tatters
All these open wounds do
Is sending more tripe into the world
Who will be giving pauper Leon
The light of day
The streets have so much to say
A capitalistic fury
colours the skyline
I had a clear bearing
I adjust
The suit I’m wearing
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