They call me home of artistic creations.
Just look at this facade formation,
high emphasis on the cultural soul,
while having money in the hole.
My south was inspired by Athena's temple.
Having three clocks ticking in tremble,
all to impress foreign people.
Yet before the final tick of the clock,
a hundred started pushing up daises in shock.
On the farther west, lies my opulence,
where my striking beauty rests.
Thought I was sitting on a goldmine,
apparently all that glitters is not gold aline.
My creator, patroness of art,
think I am falling apart.
Oh you pursue what you want,
discarding whatever that haunt.
Help stop my degradation,
am I still in your dictation?
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