The Unfairness Of Angels 
  matthew Bartram

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 New York

Skyscrapers smashed into the ground like huge grey concrete tent pegs
With taxis like little yellow insects dashing below
No birds sing here, only the sound of the yellow insects honking
The smell of hot dogs and garbage fill the air
While the racoon's in central park contemplate the 5th amendment
In a park that isn´t even central
The Atlantic sea washes away the sins of man
But sin is big business as another peep show opens
All under the watchful eye of the statue of liberty
In a city where no one ever talks
But don´t mind me I am just an ´Englishman in New York´


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