I Think Your City's A Mess, Your Birds Don't Know When To Sing

The city of your heart is blessed
With starlings somehow deficient
In the common sense exhibited
By the sparrows of my soul.
They sing under moonlight,
Silent in the sun.

 So in the day, when starlings sleep,
I never reach your heart.
But when the night falls slumberous
On  sparrow adorned trees,
Stars shoot across whilst starlings swoop
Beleaguered  by a lost audience.

I reach you in the night time:
Your city comes alive. 
Your starlings thrive in darkness
So my sparrows live on streetlights.
Your city's a mess,
But it's my hometown. 

The End

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