Towers and showers
You fall then you rise
Making love to the clouds
It's mundane you despise
Let's cut to the chase
Keep our words short today
I'm proud of this city
Perhaps 'nice one' you'd say
I think you are awesome
In the day or the night
As the faces peer up
Or peek out to the sight
Of industrious city
Laced with tramways and cars
With it's heroes and humour
Or it's battle strewn scars
On the surface you're hard
Always up for a fight
Dig deeper.. discover
A heartbeat, you might
Whether homeless or minted
Perhaps just passing through
Our Mancunian spirit
Is now running through you.
Newspaper blows along rain-washed streets,
dying echoes of hash tags and tweets
promising hook-ups, flash mobs and meets,
long gone to their bed-sits and urban retreats.
Puddles painted with neon gaudy,
could be Mancunian, Scouse or Geordie,
late night streets, care-worn and tawdry,
home to the reveller, the lewd and the bawdy.
The siren's wail, the drunken fight,
the running feet of the loser's flight,
the screams of anguish hidden from sight,
sounds of the city, heightened at night.
Couples and couplings lurching and lairy,
high on the octane of Jack and Bloody Mary,
wandering zombie-like, staggering, starey,
on late night streets, decadent and scary.
With dawn's promise come different sounds,
the rubbish collectors doing their rounds,
policemen sorting the losts and the founds
night washed away like old coffee grounds.
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