The thunderclap is lost among
A thousand sirens, blats and horns
And the rain falls light between rungs
To sidewalks lit new colours born.

Neon signs all around and to the sky.
The street lamps stand only redundant.
Alcoves full, the slow crowds can’t stay dry.
Streaming words, foreign tongues abundant.

Unlike them I have nowhere to go,
I drift from store to store, bar to bar
In search of nothing but life aglow
No sound too harsh, no sight too bizarre.

By one shop I hear some old time jazz,
By one, new industrial punk flow.
A crowd of Chinese chat on the bus as
I only watch, yearning to know

What sorts of lives they all lead here,
Their pasts and their futures beyond.
Were we friends, how would we spend the years,
These warm city nights of which I'm fond?

They’re gone at the next stop and fade away.
The rumbling of the engine calms a child.
Soon I’m home and I have nothing to say.
The once relaxing quiet is chillingly mild.

The sun begins to warm the clouds
And I collapse onto the bed.
Sleep pounces as a vengeful shroud
And puts to rest my swimming head.