Shiny streets, sparkling buildings,
Bright colors are hitting the eyes.
Walls of the city can’t hold anymore,
They’ve stretched enough;
Rotten people with empty eyes
Keep wandering around,
Trying to look busy.
I’m in the middle of the street,
Ghosts of former happiness
Are wearing suits.
Wind is flapping the fabric.
Hair has covered my face,
But I don’t need to see what I already know.
I’m surrounded by empty space,
The air is rotting,
And so am I,
Along with the windy overfilled village.