Dreams

Dreams of hitting Brooklyn one day
To see what it looks like.
How smells California, falls asleep LA,
Smiles San Francisco and speaks Seattle,
Gambles Las Vegas, rushes Chicago,
How somebody in Pittsburgh puts on a kettle.
Dreams. Silly victims of mind.
Gullible prisoners of sweet illusions.
You’re like kids, always running ahead,
I’m kinda rusty pickup, always running behind.


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