Often used as a fake New York city from 1920 but Manchester, you ain't fooling
The mucky Neo Roman columns built on hurt and hierarchy are testemant to lives,
lived in poverty.
Lowry could see, he correlated the city funnels with, human misery.
Here I sit, here I stare, at the weathered wealth of my city,
Old buildings are barely standing,
Outflanked by looming apartments,
But I'm having none of that,
Apartments are flats.
Walking paces vary,
But there is an uncanny synchronicity in this city,
Some have direction, chutzpah and meaning,
Others sad, shuffling and sedentary-
Trams belch out horns
The stories of each person is secondary to the omnipresent city
Two miles down the road a baby is born
A bored bin man hasn't smiled all day, why?
No one cares about his sore feet and paltry pay.