There’s a fountain in the sewer,
Sheltered by the concrete that keeps roads together and people alive.
Inside, one sees a new form of heaven: one kept in darkness below the thriving metropolis.
One craves it in some carnal form, desiring to see what life is like for those that lie beneath.
The world above holds no significance, and for him this world is his, and his alone.
Those that do not see what he sees are those he regards with the utmost contempt.
An artist’s mind, he holds: an artist’s mind, he embraces with shear delight.
He is beyond the carnal, beyond the devilish… beyond the bane that is life.
Thanks, in part, he believes, to the concrete paradise that lies beneath the earth: which is, to him, home.