Begin my Chicago travels
punk scene and strong coffee
smoke clouds amoung blue hair
Future my demise, roll diagnosis experience
Peak rice blooming under sunset clouds
Can’t touch one sphere without spreading all the others
Neon man has a hat, slumps in the bar
Running lie, low swings, marksman’s eyes
Little did I mention, xylene chains and planting in the rain
From ghosts, black soap, hotel copies of the tribune and the post
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