In Fallow

At dawn the cars all crawl like slugs
Commuters queue cluthing coffee cups
With grey faces tied to places they despise
Their eyes forced to gaze at the concrete
Away from the sunrise

But these are those blessed who earn what they eat
Who drive from their villages and abandoned coal heaps
While, back there, the abandoned souls keep
Standing outside in the rain
Forming their own queues on signing on day

But there is life in this city
In the young that stir it's very core
We seem hopeless to you, but we have ambitions beyond yours
We seek paths to glory, but with little hope in life
So fear not the young, but those who forget what it's like.

This is why my mind for now remains in fallow
A muddy field from which I hope wild flowers will one day grow.
I shall be used to no man's ends
But let it be known that though I cannot be owned,
I will always belong to you, my friends.