The city's nightly make-over

Friday’s new movie
Shows its colours by night
In the wee hours of the day,
The city’s a working sight

Men on lamp-posts
Men on scaffolds
Men on tip-toes
working, all night long

Tar a-boiling, gravel gnashing,
The roar of a power drill.
Deep channels are made
The earth’s surface, above and within

New roads are laid,
Old posters are slain.
Where there were faucets,
There are now parades.

Terrace party throwers
To beach-side dwellers
Can only sigh and watch
As the civic tide turns.

Bit by bit, as the world awakes
Something has gone, something remains.
By night, the city rustles up
a spanking new facade.