Billowing smoke tinged with the scent of cigars and ash color the land a dreary grey.
Where machines rule below they believed the world was their own.
Gone was the beauty of the city in the clouds, where blue skies spanned forevermore, and the fruits of labor were not overdone.
The land was fertile, the buildings grand, but the westward wind beckoned a change,
and nothing could remain.
As the city in the clouds fell back to earth, a new era emerged from the dust.
Where nature once sung in harmony with man—
steam pipes whistle,
and the city was never the same again.