Pushing forward through the wasteland of what was before
Trying to make the future so much more.
The old buildings, still with such majesty.
The city sleeps;
dreaming of it's past revelry,
its remains a twisted parody.

Pushing forward through the wasteland of what was before
Trying to make the future so much more.
The old buildings falling now in droves;
Each crumbling to dust,
bones snapping
corrupted by rust.

The city,
now it is dead,
Thoughts of grandeur
no longer residing
inside its morbid head.

The workman's eyes once filled with tears
as he worked the winding gears,
as he tore the labyrinth piece by piece
with his giant, iron teeth.

A smile
now displayed upon his face.
He works,
his a steady pace.
With great monuments to be made,
new foundations to be laid

Hopes and good intentions the mortar and stone.
Love and faith the marrow and bone.
A distant rumbling!
A lethargic thud.
Pumping; the great beasts blood.
Reborn, the past like a whisper in the wind soft spoken.
Finally, in-crusted of regrets, the city's eyes reopen.