This City

They say the writer is the weaver of dreams
What kind of dreams do we all dream?
I can only tell now of how it is to wake
And start to change the world around

Reality is now the check we sign
All this upheaval is our fate
I can't remember what I dreamt last night
When morning comes it fades away

This irksome cloud that hangs above our heads
It's telling all of us to stop
But on the monday after we bow down
To make the ends of our lives meet
This roof that covers the top of my head
Beneath the feet of someone else
And down below my gutter joins with yours
In this barbaric paradise

This city sucks the marrow
This city rots your brain
If it's not happening here
It's not anywhere else

Where do your dreams reside?
Where is your appetite?
What are we yearning for?
What are we learning for?