The choir of petroleum driven mechanisms, A stuttering siren for the ears. Standing on this sidewalk, I sink into my thoughts, As the chirping birds aid my imagination. Of a scenario so beautiful, it brings a smile to my flat face. The evening turns lovely, and as the sun sets, I find the moon, rising above. With one hand on my phone, and one hanging, That only the blowing wind touches, or rather strokes. Thus an unfamiliar situation almost seems normal, Every soul I spot seems to be, Just as similar to me as my own reflection
Our problems are as common as the feeling of being normal.