word.

This city casts a dark reflection in these murky waters

Skyscrapers run down buildings, and the spaces in between

Form nests of steel and broken homes for the local echoes of life

Is it blind luck that we find ourselves here,

Is there any purpose in the madness of these streets?

There is need here, but there is more want

The line blurs again and again

Until cynicism and spite eat us alive

It takes spirit not to be consumed

To give in, to submit, to become another

The ideal seems a mirage, ever elusive

Yet it is a must, for them.

For them.

Those echoes, still young, we find our purpose in them

That they may take part in a better song

Harmony of echo and echo, to create something better

To afford others a chance, to hear through the clanging cymbals,

The wretched howls, to hear the Word.