вот тебе примерно то же самое на вскидку в американском варианте:

The City
by Rusty Broadspear

It's difficult to comprehend the river of emotions
That pass me by, that I pass by, that are above and below.
Like wading through a thick, rich soup, so confusing.
The cacophony of city life is silent and invisible to me,
My reflection in a shop window, I find so amusing.

Oblong blocks of sunlight break through onto silent scenes
With invisible dust motes large as lobsters carrying omens.
Vast black shadows, cool and slow down an angry momentum.
I fear none of this for I see the carriers of these immeasurable emotions
Eventually shining down, as one, with the Sun.

An immense honey pot web vacuuming most of human life
Into an unnatural habitat where they attempt to work, rest and play.
A welcoming but sinister host to visitors, crime, weddings and deaths,
Also raises it s own offspring. Sometimes in opulence but often
In the dark, damp hidden tributaries, in fear and in poverty.

Today I have sat in cafes and wandered through many large stores
That display their merchandise like traps within traps within the web.
Tributary children seldom reach this far but tributary emotions do.
An invisible shroud of sadness and gloom hangs over this glitz,
I sense it, everyone senses it, but with each heavy stride, I see it, too.