Above, there are golden spires
Safety rails and pretty gardens
Below, there are only square behemoths
Exposed pipes and cold corners
Above, they laugh as tightrope walkers dance
In the air, twirling upon a single thread
Do they not know, that down here in the air
That thread could mean life or death?
Below, suspended over the abyss
Simple walkways, swaying bridges
Above, feet on solid ground
Is not a luxury, it’s just life
The City
