Progression.

[Fkeu'itan]

Deeply dystopian, the move to the future.
The city, criss-cross like a land solely suture.
Sick corrosive light in a world full of pain.
Solution slick tarmac, the thick acid rain.
An industry collapse, a cry lost in dark.
From form and from froth, no longer we hark.

And, you don't...