From the rattly ‘ol ferry,
rollin’, pitchin’ in the sea,
being thrown off balance,
he stood in awe,
beholdin’ the sight of the City.
Made of dreams, thoughts,
and ideas, so bold;
Built by the labour, blood
and sweat of a great too many;
Cast in shafts of concrete, steel,
and glass;
Spread out, uneven,
a jagged, geometric skyline,
silhouetted dark,
against the settin’ sunlight.
Lightin’ up, after dusk,
are lil’ sparks,
of incandescent light bulbs,
and fluorescent, too;
A thousand yellow-blue eyes staring,
cold, yet comforting.
A place, where,
a pauper could dream,
of being a prince;
Yes, oaths he’d have to make,
inked in blood, toiling in sweat;
Revering the grandeur of the City,
only to break,
or make himself, into what he wishes to be.
Yes.
That day would come;
But today, on this rattly ‘ol ferry,
his heart is filled,
with the weight of dreams;
though his pocket's filled with just pennies.
