City at night

Beautiful, beautiful, midnight city.
I sense you are evil but still you are pretty.
I know your inhabitants are in need of pity.
But still I love my midnight city.

I see you collapse under the weight of the stars
And nothing can heal your scars
Nothing will heal your scars

And still the walls keep tumbling down
Because they were always tumbling down
Will nobody wear this crown?
Can nobody save this town?

Maybe one day this city could fly.
But some day this city will die...

City

Dark green above and gold beneath
He was a wonderous sight
But points and wings and tail barb
Were as black as deepest night

Now below him lay the city
Empty now, the people dead
No man, no woman, no child played
And those not dead, had fled

For its towers were tumbled down
The walls just dust, not stone
While through the vacant streets and alleys
All the winds did loudly moan

Glancing here and seeking there
Flicking his long forked tongue
Confused, his mind reached for one man
As above the city he hung

Yet even that mind was silent
Killed by the city's foe
But the dragon knew who they were
As he left the city below

Triumph and Disaster

                                         

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on!'

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
' Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch,
if neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!