In a city of glass, translucent and dreary,
the ground below, concrete and opaque.
Within the alleys of gas, the backstreet so eerie,
Juliette stumbles weary, out of her aching shift,
upon to the concrete, which housed some snowdrift.
Her job is one that demands; Worthy of a wicked crown,
or so they say.
But she wanted something more than to drown,
Down, down, under, into this appalling bay.
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