Towers cast from steel, stone, and glass rise up, close in,
blotting out skies, sealing in fates fortunes and favors alike while
off-black smoke seeps through city streets.
Tin can insects devour unwary flesh are in turn devoured by the mob,
both thrive and die in tar-filled scars of earth.
(Ever busy, ever busy)

Stiff winged birds lay awkwardly on the curb while
stiff legged suits pass them by.
Blood stains the former's breasts, the latter's hands.
Preachers proselytize from the stage and prophets mutter on corners
to unheeded replies all around.
(Ever busy, ever busy)

Small cities, smaller people, all specks on half-fogged glasses.
Blended, blurred, all as one, none as all.
A bird’s eye view: whole lives reduced to dots in motion.
Sharing laughs, tears, screams, shouts, hugs, love, hate,
the vile and beauty mingling mixed-
(Ever busy, every busy)

Ash gray air from stooping trees shroud the only quiet side of the world.
Concrete angels watch over their stone strewn garden,
waiting prettily for nothing at all.
A soft spoken man in black lurks around the edges, checking his watch,
and quietly counting down.
Ever busy, ever busy.

I am a Secret Santa Summer Nodeshell Challenge 2011 thief.

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