How does a city rise? Not on its own,
Not easily, not quickly, and not on
A passing whim. When frustration has grown
In long and empty years, and time has gone
On past the people, when the days are dark
Have been for generations, but the sky
For once might promise dawn, when the spark
That might be fire is taken for day
And forced to be a sunrise, when the cry
Becomes too loud to be ignored or muted,
When people look out in the street and say
Today I will go out, what was saluted
Is suddenly rejected, and no fist
Can tell the city it cannot resist.
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