insomnia and hazy skies bloodshot my eyes
sirens of collective fears ring in my ears
the rot of unkempt boroughs stings my nose
graffiti called art is plastered on my heart
tears and slave chains drag through my veins
homelessness and mangy mutt fill my bloated gut
but my clothes finest sold and my crown solid gold
Not mother nature, our cities on the inside are sometimes sad places, but they like to show a different side to the world.