Telling stories in a mall, Adding voices to the hum, The mighty chorus of it all, The booming echo of the drum. A mall is not a garden path, Or gentle narrow stream, Or a royal's porcelain bath, Or a poet's dream. Not a home for kings or queens, Or place of glorious deeds, Nor place for lover's scenes, Or place for planting seeds. A mall is but a home of light, Of ordinary days, Of human noise and moments bright, Then off along our ways.