Floating in a sea of concrete my soul gets cold.
Clouds of dust and smoke run through my blood.
Mountains of trash are the new normal,
vomiting cancer packed in nice aroma.
Remembering the sea makes the hear flutter.
Dreaming of clean air makes your lungs forget their lutter.
Green is so yesterday, blue is a forgotten tale.
Flowers are made of polyester and can be glued to your nails.