Mind blowing, ecstatic, everyone’s high.

The white winds of cocaine city blow, and paint the landscape,
With the innocence it possesses.

Young kids, old kids, Grandpa, Aunty Pam.

Everyone’s high in cocaine city. Even the trees.

And the roads, and the cars, and the swings,

And the buses, and the paths, and the bushes,
And the bins, and the rooftops of houses high as high can be,
Flying like a kite, in cocaine city.

Such a sad sight it is, when the cocaine melts, and leaves the city’s veins,
And its replacement is not exhilarating, but a hindrance.

The streets of cocaine city, turn into the streets: of slush suburb.