Under The Cloud

The depression, 
in purple moon, 
scattering black magic. 

The eatery, I ask, why were 
you hungry? 
The singsong tea pot smiles. 

The theme of mist 
valley, incites the palazzo; 
and the riots begin. 

A dark silhouette, looms�"� 
against the falling star, 
I start picking up the debris. 

On the fringe of 
economic boom, I put my 
hands in the wronged shirt.