A fragment of a tune
Drifts from a distant memory
Rolling over my my consciousness
Taking me back to dreams once imagined
Pine trees and stalinist apartments
Coffee stained subway plans
Cyrillic calligraphy above golden icons
Never actually transmitted by my optic nerve
Created from the ether of my fantasies
Real and unreal
Born of broken leg induced boredom
Numbed, soften by painkillers
Articulated by bass heavy Dub
