It hits me but I still feel warm,
Seeping through my skin like a mother's hug,
If we could all dance and sing and laugh
But that is not my city.
 
My city is loud lads and lairy youth,
shunned by ones who were once us too.
 
My city is wide- so vast and gold,
And cold and punishing and sad.
 
Sad to see the cracks in this pavement,
Sad to see the empty buildings and shards of glass.
Painted hatred on walls and buses.
 
My city is a mess of orange bliss,
No beach or jungle or mountains I know.
But my city is mine and as I walk through,
The gum becomes part of my shoes.
 
Ashes and ashes but the cloud finally clears,
So I can see my city regardless of her tears.
 
I see her and I love her,
Her wonderous appeal,
Her scent of warm bread and Indian spices.
 
Many dreams I have had to leave my city
But a city by any other name...
Much to discover whether here or there,
For now this is my Glasgow and she cares.