The streets of tarmac are straight as a die With steel fingers clawing at the sky Inside the wall of the citadel Yellow chariots race Peasants and their peasants' smells Hungry enough to touch your face.
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The streets of tarmac are straight as a die With steel fingers clawing at the sky Inside the wall of the citadel Yellow chariots race Peasants and their peasants' smells Hungry enough to touch your face.