Our city has shriveled
Dragging in its vastness
Of thoughts and lives
To crumple inside an umbrella.
Above is the hot soaring sun,
Below thousand simmering lives.
Their thoughts don't grow
Their love doesn't bloom
Our city has shriveled
Into a tiny little smothering box.

The seashore has a few more shells
The remaining being picked and carried
To adorn someone's mansion
In a distant rural village.

The bookstores display not thoughts,
But just success and success
True lives are hidden inside
 Within pages of pirated copies.

Orange moon, empty night
There's no corner of solitude
To tear our clothes and fall into one another
There's no blue bright star above
To close its eye, while we kiss till dawn.

Our city has shriveled
Into a tiny little smothering box.