Hongdae, you are the perfect urban life…
Art in the street that I do so crave,
of tags and skulls and social defects,
with murals of talent spread thinly on walls.
Wafting stenches from your belly bellow,
conflict with enticing side walk roasts of flesh.
Passing fashion sells a different society,
new of age,
mixing morals for a counter culture.
Hearts in your eyes for the music you so love,
of musicians masking noise for joy,
corrupting the pollution of cell phone sales.
Lights that deceive a cotton comfort of warmth,
that burn and welcome me
Hongdae, I do so hate to love you.