In my great grandmother's time,
All the walls were clean
No gang symbols
And tags scattering the huge brick wall.
Street artists know everything,
armed with colorful cans of paint.
They work all night long,
We wake up to all their masterpieces.
Oh Memory,
People call it graffiti and trash
a huge cliché.
The walls tell an ongoing story
Nobody ever cares enough to hear.
Dragons, snakes, and goblins,
On the walls,
Wait until darkness comes out.
When night shows its stars
Everything changes.
