Predictable,
always the same,
no differentiation in sight,
forever trapped in this silly game.

Day in,
day out,
definition of lunacy,
I hold a monopoly of sanity.

This city is founded on conformity,
the people, more of the same,
the city, a deformity,
the people, a symphony of the same.

Though I still dream of the mystical,
sifting through grains of sand,
crushed up glass,
always finding myself back at the beginning,
a malcontent in my own way.

Still I take comfort in the sound,
the sound of vibrancy,
of dissonance and playful rebellion,
lost in endless sands,
my name is homophony.