It's never ending,
The drains overflow,
Cars bathe pedestrians
Who are already drenched.
There's a cool breeze
Blowing in this city of wind.
It would be perfect,
If I didn't live in the city.
Take me to the moors
Where the grouse nest
And the choughs graze.
To the sea of heather.
The smell of wet earth,
Pummeled by car exhausts
Poisons the streets and
Like me, the trees try to escape.
I could wander the moors
Till I reach the cliffs
Where the salt of the Atlantic
Makes love to the gorse.
The shelter given
By a rotting house
Cannot be compared.
I would rather roam the moors.
May 7, 2011
May 7, 2011 at 12:38 AM UTC
It's never ending,
The drains overflow,
Cars bathe pedestrians
Who are already drenched.
There's a cool breeze
Blowing in this city of wind.
It would be perfect,
If I didn't live in the city.
Take me to the moors
Where the grouse nest
And the choughs graze.
To the sea of heather.
The smell of wet earth,
Pummeled by car exhausts
Poisons the streets and
Like me, the trees try to escape.
I could wander the moors
Till I reach the cliffs
Where the salt of the Atlantic
Makes love to the gorse.
The shelter given
By a rotting house
Cannot be compared.
I would rather roam the moors.
