With the heavy notes of Sulphur in the air
Make it harder to hear windsong
While the distant fires burn to not dispel them
Leave the sour notes to play
Soon the waters brim with ships upon its harbour
Obscure the culling of the sea
While a distant siren fades into the ocean
Of a dying song's decay
All along the ditch
Smell that salty breeze
I can finally breathe
A little better here than over there
Think I hear windsong
Think I hear windsong
Sounding within
Dry the branches and the roots worn-out with bending
They'd be wishing for a songbird
Deep beneath the farthest reaches of the ground
Lay the toothless roots of wear
While the shallow breaths of buildings suffocate us
They are totems for the windless
Sow the sourness of Sulphur in our sweating
Evanesced into the air
So we've built
Expressways
Snaking
Through our
Stacks of
Boxed-up homes
A city grown
To eat its own
To eat its own
To eat its own