finally, the roaring has stopped
sunrays fall silently on cold asphalt
adorned with blots of saliva
the first bus is hissing
an echo of last night’s tremendous crescendo
of that ever attacking and decaying symphony of noise
interspersed with the curses of staggering repatriates
a staccato of ‚fuck you fuckers fuck fuck you fuckers‘
and the desultory threats of pathetic hipster kids
in the first tangerine morning light
the city has almost regained its innocence
the blaring insults and evergreen trash
of ever repeating lucky daft punks
breathing the air heavy with waste-whatever
blinking against the sky after a night
in which the eye wanted to sleep
but the head was no mattress
