Boring and bleak
What this has become
Same old scenes
Same old streets

The car trumps along
Potholes roughen its ascent
Through tarmac roads,
Through cold stone forests.

Polluted with streams of people
Back and forth
I go almost daily
No thoughts escape my head

The air full of fuel
The sky blinded by streetlights
The sounds always the same
Every day, the same

Monday to Friday
Never a change.