Streets that cry hurt into the air.
That shout obscenely into the night.
That house people, angry and sad.
Inside, all the grey faces
Become caught in the box-snare.
In the pubs, just off the streets,
Men start the ritual
With sarcasm and booze.
The bell sounds.
Into the streets for a fight.
Down to homes for a fight.
Then to their beds…
I look down from my arrogant tower
And ask myself: Are they happy?
I reply: Am I happy?