I look at the building The peeling paint Belies the the sense of security One is meant to receive from it. This lack of care and love Shows that it is merely a commodity I think they call it an investment Which is strange Because - shouldn't investment mean "To put into something with the intention of creating more value?" ... But with this building Nobody is placing anything of value into it That will leave any sort of a lasting legacy It would indeed be lucky if it didn't crumble Onto its occupants. Moss grows outside on the panes Wild, but underlined by a deep sad Tinges of something unidentifiable A sense of being abandoned To a greater carelessness? Evidenced by a lack of pursuit In what truly holds value. And yet, this tired old building Must keep the people housed Even if those within have to sacrifice their lives Their last drop of blood To the masters Those who hold the keys Claim to have power And yet, uncaring power seems rather misplaced Especially those who don't pay any mind To the peeling paint And the sad moss.