A wave of wings washing the city
beauty above
for below only pity
The towers we raise in pale imitation
a sorry attempt at a human migration
But the higher we rise the longer the shadows
the greyer the streets
the deeper the shallows
And when we reach those heavenly heights
We find only pigeons
ravaged with blight
Because all that’s above is the same as below
And blind to that beauty
we have only the show