Tired eyes, hurt eyes, hazy lies the day.
This the sick light glow of malaise,
Slow syrup, tearing tissue paper,
Ennui mild beside a good coat’s loss.
A city so well lit should not lie
So dormant, so very dark.
Never dreary in decorous neon,
Yet extra planar light barely peeps in.
Consider this your invitation
To the abyss, a station
Awaits, as does a carriage
With doors of light, wheels of gold.
Will you this offer accept?
Step inside and see
The real world as it flows
Into steadily seeking eyes.