A maze made of streets,
They bend and twist
And go nowhere.
They're too huge so you get lost.
Then, narrower and narrower,
They softly suffocate you.
A jungle made of buildings,
Benches and streetlights
And cafès and noise.
The City wants you.
She clearly calls you
With her siren voice.
A cobweb of thoughts,
it hangs in your mind:
"All the efforts have come to nought,
The overwhelming daily grind."
Then a little path appears,
A path that goes backwards.
The only way to escape.
It's made of bright memories
And friendly faces.
It's the need to go back
And search for cosy places.
It's the need to find ourselves.