Longing for a gleaming city.  
For spires of glass and steel, outgrowths risen above the clouds.
For a place for the teeming masses to bustle.
<!-- Cities know how to appreciate the night. -->
That never sleeps.  
For crafts all manner, flowing in and out, speeding by in a blink,
or lazily drawing in to a stop.  
I must make do with low hills, these grids of stout boxes barely defacing a rolling silhouette;
concrete stalagmites that would replace the skyline left only in my head.

Where did we go so wrong, that we stopped building the future, one half century ago?  
Why must I live in someone else's frozen moment in time, an elder's rose-tinted childhood.

<!-- Still Alive - Lisa Miskovsky, interpolated very briefly -->
I know there's something wrong

Your concrete heart isn't beating  
I am so helpless here  
And nothing that I do  
Is ever going to bring you back

<!-- Everyone is welcome, say the signs, as I wander downhill.
Save our city! Say no to apartments, say the signs, as I round the corner.
What city? I think, as I look around, at the ground that once hosted the World's Fair.

When did we forget how to dream towards the sky? -->

How did we become content in this stasis?

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<small>I expect at minimum such upheaval from technology that none of this matters object level, an escape hatch for feelings is still needed.</small>