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 

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