Red lace.

Where cameras see more than people,

     and guidebooks talk more.

Fake plastic trees and fake plastic faces.

       Dogs in handbags and children on leashes.

Quests to fit in with 'society',

    paid for with money and a rough morning after

No trash on the streets.
    But so much inside, never recycled.

Amusement parks where people throng,

     History forgotten because it didn't have a guided tour.

Insurance salesman sits in a corner of the train

     Troubled eyes closed, face creased.

In the midst of metallic monstrosities

        lies weather-beaten exposed brick.

Big Bvildings and awnings,

       with elaborate faces.

When two get all the attention,

     And the others still stand patient.

Where you can walk on the road,

     and discover a walk through the woods.

Where you can hear a saxophone,

     cry out words which the city spoke in its ear.

Where old italian man and son fish on a small boat,

   surrounded by others with tanning women and drinking men.

Where the human posing as a statue,

    is more real than the ones he entertains

Where songs are still sung,

   and happy dances are danced.

Where music isn't all about her glorious booty,

       or how he would tap it.

Where you could walk out your balcony or look out your window,

       and touch the train as it passes by.

Where men sit in suits and smoke cigars

        laugh and discuss on their lawns as a maid patiently stands by.

At the heart of a city in debt, lives 

       History rich with money and power,

       

It lies silent, not to be tainted,

      By the future it never foresaw.

In the midst of madness a city lives,

       and its people survive, to silently tell the tale.

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Just another person who got lost in the city.