The City Has Eyes

The city has eyes,
And these eyes, they can see,
From the joy of the suburbs,
To row fifty three.

From the weight of the cold
As the street singer sings,
To the words carved in gold,
On the drug dealer's rings.

How the city has eyes,
And these eyes are wise,
As the hands of the beggars,
And con artist cries.

As the man by the bookshop,
Each quarter past five,
Sells his goods to the strangers,
To keep him alive.

How their stories are endless,
With many a debt,
How the city has eyes,
And these eyes they have wept.

End