The streets don't recognize
The struggles, they don't read 
The reason behind a dropping
Smile or a weakening spine. 
All they're invested in is 
Whether or not the 
Perfect looking ship sinks.
I urge you to break 
These widespread links 
And observe the faces,
The traces that they leave,
The stories that they weave;
A little sniffle, a little sigh 
And we're convinced that 
One has heartily cried,
But if sniffling was crying
Then drizzling is raining,
And if pattering is a noise 
Then shattering is a choice.