Movement minx, mincing meat
She tides through jungles in wake leaves shake
But east side eidolon her sleep displays
Between the concrete displays, her age and her rage

A dream like a rag rests on the spires of her city
Centuries of men reflux into muscle
Pushes her along, her excitement belongs
To none other than herself (you're young (sometimes rich) once)

My father never liked cities, "they're all the same"
But daddy don't you know that's where the future is
And neon vines drop down from scaffolds
Grab her by the waist and bring her up up

Where she rests, solemnly gargoyle at
Outrageous heights.
I'll surely miss her, that old gal of mine.