With the natural rhythm of breath,
A warm wave hits the cold glass.
Staring out to the streets below,
Around a corner, down a block,
I see the lights shining brighter
Than the stars have ever blinked.
It’s unnatural to be so enthralled
By something utterly stale.
I’ve see this before
All over the world.
Every corner is the same.
But the translations are different.
It’s constantly moving,
And always surviving.
If it stopped, only for a second,
I think I should be cured.