A city stirs, chaos ensues.
A thousand feet shuffle on
Into the gloom.
As markets spew skewed
Statistics, of
Fortunes faded
And riches made in minutes.

I see the lightning.
I can smell the thunder.
With all the rancid sounds
Of society torn asunder.

They have the need.
The need for greed
And new age prophets.
Preaching and predicting
The rise and fall.
Like Benedictine's of old.
So secure and safe,
Kept warm by misguided faith
In numbers.

As stocks begin to slumber
And those feet go shuffling home,
The city sighs a relief.
Guiding it's flock
Through trains and planes
Like a Shepard leads his sheep.