London

ten thousand court shoes padding the floor, 

getting off at Moorgate that's for sure. 

Twenty thousand ipods carried in their pockets, 

Ubiquity and Anonymity, Got it. 

Can't understand why I keep on running 

Can't ever learn that the bad are coming 

Before it's too late

Now I hate the last place 

And fear the new. 

What do I do ?

I run towards the Thirty thousand brogues walking in Canary Warf 

Getting on boats and tubes and down sarf

No one says hello 

We've got to go 

Ego, Ergo, Ipso Facto, 

Go down sarf. 

The End

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