with the world swirling round and round,
jingles of notes and flashing signs,
i stumble, half blinded by neon,
and empty souls all in a line.
wonder as i do, now and again,
if maybe there really is naught,
to do or to hope for, to think or to pray,
if it hasnt been lobbied or bought.
wrap myself up in wintery arms,
hearing my heartbeat pound on,
wondering what would be left of the world,
if all of the price tags were gone.