There are spires of aspiration,
I climb them but I cannot reach.
A mighty crest looks down on me,
I do not deserve to bear it.
Lines of books and silent arches,
The hum of the cathedral and the Great Gate,
Devoid of deviance and expression, -STAY OFF THE GRASS!
Where is the colour, the multitude, the joy?
Could I live this scholarly existence?
Of black robes and 600 year old stone?
Could I hear a church bell every morning,
A textbook in my hand every day?
Whilst my skin looses its stains and callouses,
In the city rumble of the night.