I heard architects muse, on beauty ways and I laughed, for i know your past, once i stood at your Fountainhead too muse, as this pollution casted into you
And saw you bathed in its ways, with minds waiting to shine from your designs, which touch upon the sublime, then you swim down stained stream, to meet your dreams
Until wealth himself hooks upon you, its intravenous drip, feeds all your needs, through your truer and bluer veins, this steel coldly picks
Soon, to fuse into you, while the fountainhead in your head, tells you its all ok, for beauty must bloom soon, upon these golden tracks
Your building stands proud, under radiant sun, but aloud stone cold monster sits, a tycoon in highest room and each brick layed was paid by his slaves, now in early graves
While you sit, upon cracked foundation stone, with intravenous drip, still bleeding from your collapsed tracked vein, gone insane, still u muse at all the beauty you do
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