The Smoke

 

There is a city that never sleeps, 

But I know of one that does.

 

The echo of footsteps in an ancient town; 

Quiet and still as the trees dream,

Calmly, quietly swaying to the breeze.

The motionless monstrosities

Of the buildings that rise above,

Painted blacker than death;

Like the night sky but no stars are in sight. 

Finally at peace from the day,

Yet another lies ahead.

 

There is a place called the City of Light, 

But I’ve seen it only at dusk.

I gaze down at it, at you, while you sleep; 

You enlighten me so deeply,

You’ll never know what beauty I endure. 

Such joy I see when moonbeams bounce 

What magic you find at night.

 

We all know the City of Angels, 

But my home if far from that.

The city I look at from dusk till dawn 

Is unique in itself.

A lonely town suspiciously quiet, 

Most commonly know as The Smoke.

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