Passive passengers on the elevated train,
peruse in silence and reflected windowpanes.
Their pains unknown to each and every other
In the city of brotherly love,
where none know nothing of it,
Because not one ever shows it.

Clickety-clack clickety-clack
Down the rickety track it goes
To streets full of tracked arms,
And corner bars,
Run-down houses and runway cars.

How do you spread motivation in a nation of the dead?
When everything has been said,
What can you do, but DO?

Words can move people but people move mountains,
People plant gardens and people build fountains.
People create new outcomes.

While this dying city awaits her sentence,
The passengers say their penance and seek repentance.
But it’s easy saying sorry to the executioner,

Forgive them.
They know not what they do.
They never meant to execute her.