An enormous ocean of roof-tops
In a desert made of stone
Where one can live or die
and be a bit happy
All the streets, all the houses
all the staircases and all the doors,
It had never really interested me
where they actually led to
I wait only for the rain,
when the rivers are allowed to overflow
and the trash from this city is washed away at last
When the fakeness and schemes
and the hipocricy are taken with it,
that we see underneath us after every day
Waiting for the rain,
that splashes away the filth
that is in my street and my apartment
and sits in my soul.