As a king I sit at the top of the hill,
My throne cast into the shadows of night.
Behind my casings I watch the thrill,
Of the echoes just itching to fight.
For which cry or plea of insanity,
Warrants a much needed action of change.
But through vanity we're denied humanity
And all hope remains out of range.

A city littered with broken dreams
Scattered like trash on a public street.
The tattered faces more than what it seems,
But strung as those lost in the beat.
The smell in the air as foul as the crimes
Committed behind the veil of justice.
And here in lies the question of times,
Has our trigger for empathy become restless?

Dollars and cents without common sense
Spread towards the towns select few.
Remorseless souls, no signs of their repents
Noticiblally absent from the public's pew
Our father's fantasy, our mother's dreams,
Once beaconed as the hope of the West
But now it seems, just lost to the screams,
And left to the wayside like the rest.