insomnia and hazy skies bloodshot her eyes
sirens of collective fears ring in her ears
the rot of unkempt boroughs stings her nose
graffiti called art is plastered on her heart
tears and slave chains drag through her veins
homelessness and mangy mutt fill her bloated gut
but her clothes finest sold and her 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.