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Looking

Looking down at the city, I hear it crying.
Crying for someone to save it.
Rain pours through the streets, covering every inch of building, socking it to the bone.
Watching the people like scurrying ants, trying to find their way.
No idea about their city and the prove it has to pay.
They aren’t looking like I am, they do not see what I see.
Being trodden on, and driven on, and rained on.
People dropping cigarettes and rubbish all throughout the streets.
Making the city untidy and unclean,
Making their city weep.

So they aren’t looking, but I am.
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