The Smog and the Sounds

A soft orange glow

Lingers at my window

The glass is clouded

And I can’t see out of it

From my eight floors above the street

Where all the people are beat

And there’s not a body in here

Or mine- That has their head clear

 

I’m going to get out of this city

This is the last push

I’m afraid I must leave again

And I won’t be saying goodbye this time

 

A soft orange glow

Sits motionless at my window

And I can’t see any textures

All I know is that my head hurts

And that it’s the lights of the city

That robs the glass of its clarity

It’s the fog ridden by the city’s light

That clouds my glass tonight

 

The window is solid here

Like all the other sides of the room

There’s not a soul here beside me

Within these walls or the building

 

A soft orange glow

Mocks me from my window

And I can only feel the air and hear the sound

But I can’t tell what’s passing on the ground

Until I hear the conductor of the train

Pull his horn continually on its gain

And for once it’s not city-like or enchanting

To hear the machines always ranting

 

It’s enough to have that in my own head

The smog and the sounds

I don’t need the streets to bring me down

With their cold and their clouds

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