The Moth and the Candle

Streets of the empty line the maps
Portraying the city as lived-in
Walk down them with difficulty in the throng
The press of bodies lacking souls
Will block your path, hamper your journey
Leaving them clear of humanity

The buildings and monuments, consumed by their glory
Built by arrogance and greed, last longer than men
These buildings are monuments to functionalism
To the now ended search for pluperfect perfection
We have left the city in its original form
And transformed its edges into something new
Great operations of capital, transplanting communities
To scatter the problems far and wide

Little bits and pieces of items of use
Lie around and about in minor heaps
Evidence of some habitation, now neglect
For the fabric as seen of the urban milieu

Long lines of the asphalt nervous system
Streak away from a centre of nerves and stone
Kept alive by an energy electrical, vital
Pulsating in and it is the new light

Keeping the structure going has now superseded
The original purpose of the structure itself
Brick upon brick, circuit after circuit
More glass and metal and cold, grey stone
Surrounds us, overawes us, puts us down
And the morbidly ironic fact of the matter is
We created it...but we don’t live there anymore