Everything looks the same,

These streets I grew up in,

Worn by thousands of footprints

And filled with memories,

People who cried and laughed

And lived and loved.

But if you listen carefully,

There is a hissing, a muttering,

Churning, boiling beneath these streets

Until the pavement cracks and the voices are heard

And the voices are screaming:

This city is dying.

They are taking away everything we held dear,

Locusts filling the streets

Even the cracks in the pavement,

Drowning out our voices

Until all that can be heard

Is their incessant screeching

That speaks of harmony

And love and peace, but

Drowns out our voices-