words Shania Parker
I am not hurried,
I am restfully unmoving here.
The humming of the thriving city,
The prattle of white-powdered man,
The unkempt look of night,
It raises the spirits high.
The perils of the capital,
The delusion of peace,
The fabricated security of daylight,
All of it, a guiltless crime.
Blood, it is pumping.
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