The City's Breath

As corporate execs rub their hands together In greedy glee on seats of plush leather The man on the street smells the breath of the city Whilst the man in the tower thinks himself quite witty As the look down upon the masses below Eking a living, walking hungry and slow On the sidewalk that feels like the skin of the city But as the markets fall and crash The wealthy man becomes poor in a flash And in anxiety and desperation His turmoiled mind finds a last inspiration To walk to the balcony with a sobbing cry And to spread his wings with hope he can fly And the city below opens its mouth As the suddenly poor plummets down south And the stench of the breath of the eternal city Is the fetid decay of the man that was witty Yet the steady masses still stumble along To the beat of the street and the city’s live song