I'm leaving,
this cursed town.
With it promises,
of pop idols,
progress,
and good.
I am tired,
of its greyscale,
worn intentions.
The broken clocks,
that never give time,
or grace.
to its wound up tribes.
A Red Bull state.
Fed on mediocrity,
and sunny delight.
I can't believe it not butter.
You better.
Because some day, all watches,
will be made this way.
