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The city I am |
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My alleys veins, my water nurture |
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Nobody need stand on ceremony before my doors |
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I am a home to you |
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And to them |
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Of ashes they come |
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In sackcloth cloaked |
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Much was told of me |
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Listen to my names, different by tongue |
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A rose by any other name smells just as sweet |
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The banners flying in the wind over my towers |
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Purposeless |
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I have no flag, no religion |
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No loyalty |
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I harbour all but stand for none |
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A waver, declaring my immunity |
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Diaspora |
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The one without religion inside the dogma |
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Listen to those long gone |
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It is they who are loyal to me |
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Those in sackcloth |
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And those who yearn for me |
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Some are pious, some cater to whims, |
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Some provoke |
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But I am a labyrinth of layers |
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Find only sense |
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Without a compass |
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For the city I am |
