My hopes and dreams came to rest
On a city made of smoke and concrete,
Where the air tastes like grease,
And the people look only ahead.

That's what I decided I wanted;
I wanted the underground,
The names from the Monopoly board,
Black taxis at street corners.

I wanted glamour without expense,
The streets without the litter,
The grit without the pain,
And the reality without suffering.

I wanted the city to reach out,
And grab me by both hands,
And confess its undying love to me,
Desperate to prove its worth.

But the city did not care for me,
Its arms were busy juggling
All the people walking or laying
Down on its endless streets.

I got questions instead of answers
Perspiration instead of inspiration
From fast-walking to keep up with a pace
That would never match my own.

I got none of the things I wanted,
And I know that I'm to blame for this
For resting my hopes on miracles,
And the views on picture postcards.

I got sick of my illusions,
Sick of the reality, sick,
Sick and tired of this ******* city,
Sick, yes, but mostly tired.

Maybe if I were famous or wealthy,
Maybe if the city really had
Taken me by the hand and led me,
Maybe then things would be different.

And so my hopes and dreams flew away
On the back of an old wrapper from
Somebody else's fish and chips
I saw floating in a cloudy sky.

But in the end this is my fault,
Because how naive could I be
To think that the capital city
Would ever choose a nobody like me?