Pray for the city shining through puddles
Soaking my parka and pizza and soul
Say this pilgrim expects cuddles
After a long and weary walk home.
Traffic lights in bloom, they stop, I run
A jungle of fluorescent smog my goal
Home is where there is no sun
Only traffic and a commune of moles.
Catch me chasing red dots round the block
Heaven rooted in standstill and wheels
Blinkers indicate a sudden stop
of beeping, thinking, sirens and heels.