This city is not as it seems
With bright lights it startles
It deceives the hopes of many

This city does not Forgive
It is the struggle of life
Dressed up in all the throes of civilisation

The history weighs heavy in this place
And all that have come before
Tramp on

An unending queue which jostles and shoves
Till one day you look back and question

Why

What is the purpose of this march
If not to mould and grind
And hold the heart away from the chest

Only those who run can really appreciate
The true nature
Of a place like this

But there is something
Which skews the perception
Of those lucky ones

Memories become mellowed with distance
Tinted
With the rose colour of present comforts

So the claws remain
And the cycle rolls on

It is not as it seems
This city