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punkhip wasteland

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May. 18th, 2011 | 09:32 pm
mood: deviousdevious

I'd dreamed on the first day
of drinking at bars in Wicker Park
living some punk dream running
2am down the street
in the dark

I would spend my youth along the way
happily living in cramped quarters
like a rock star foreigner
pampered in the prozac nation
nightmare forced into domestication

The city soon haunts the hearts of men
the small room stuffed with dreams
halts the will to spread wings

White clouds arranged around the room
a pure reminder of the sky
I'd used the whitest cleanest rags
tampered with their tattered tags
just to keep them dry

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