Too little doors, too many windows
Towers upon towers, rows upon rows,
In a city that yearns to sleep.
Rusty walls around rustier floors,
Broken speed limits and unshared chores,
In this forest that runs too deep.
Euphoric freedom, or so does it seem.
Chained by the neck to every other whim,
In a violent disarray of vows.
Hunting treasures in an ocean of rust,
Gnawing at gold and chewing on dust,
Selling out souls for chaos.
It’s a mirage inside a dreary dream
With eager sentinels staring agleam
With pens darker than tar.
You wake up and then you realize,
All that freedom piled up to the skies
Was too little to settle for.