Compressed into squares the vibrancy of the human race surrounds the guilty pleasures it remains forever enslaved by. The shackles which bind the dreams of the wildest dreamers to their egos and the selfish desires in which they lay entwined with locked forever with a key only they've had all along. Through the haze on the horizon never seeing the sun set, and consequently never seeing the sun rise either, man looks to the morrow with a sense of despair as the well-to-do ride the city streets carefree and without empathy. A single light turns on, then off in one of the endless array of towers and a human prepares himself for slumber, resting his body only to give it to his corporate masters the day after. His health but a mere afterthought to the service he will provide to the establishment, masquerading as "the benefit of mankind" the work he does his very terminal illness that will eventually do him in. The yin and the yang of his daily existence is to find his identity in the universe of concrete where identities are willfully sacrificed for even the most meager of earnings. Men paving streets so the Rolls Royce's and Maybachs's of his owners can feel no bumps, no semblance of turbulence as they coast through the maze with tinted windows up smiling at the insanity they have constructed for others to flail and fight in.
Where in this maze lies the exit? Surely it isn't in the heavens, clouded with the resulting byproducts of a hyperactive and insanely greedy consumers who must have the products they slave to make every day. Surely it isn't the ground where even the most desperate efforts to use it to provide food and supplies to escape the urban nightmare are without question futile. Men, women and children staring out of the windows that offer their prisons only a hint of the sunlight that tries to enter the darkness of their domains, watching the machine they've helped to create turn and function despite them even if they thought about ceasing their productivity. For human kind has given birth to a multi-headed dragon which breaths fire, and needs them not to cause destruction, but entirely willing to use them so long as they are willing to feed its might so it can reign unchallenged for the millennia to come. Here is mankind's last stand. Not from the dangers of the cold, soul-dead creation he brought into fruition, but from the acceptance of the darkness and bleak nature of it as "normal" in his life; his prison bars closer than the shirt on his body.