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There are voices in graffiti
And stars in city lights,
Energy in listening
To music of the night.

Smell of fear and alcohol,
The taste of city air,
Of gasoline and butane,
Elation and despair.

There’s danger and destruction
And blood on calloused hands,
Outlaws built to follow
Another one’s demands.

There are honest cops and crooks
And all those in-between,
Sirens, rain, and whispered words;
An age-old dance routine.

Screeching tires and breaking glass,
Blood and rain and flashing lights,
All part of the city’s voice,
The music of the night.