Everybody loves Bob Marley,
everywhere I go it's the same old story,
people of all nation, they love the rasta-
man vibration--today is saturday and the sponge
looks out his street-view in Brooklyn, but
the sea is large and vast like the city may or may
not be, nineteen and dreamin' real goals be
fluctuating but keeping my head in the
face of sour patch kids, they
say we're dreamers but we're not the only ones,
feel the spirit alive in the town and the city,
mood is only delivered by chemists
and alchemists who push Pb
into Au, dopa-mine into receptors,
blood into body.

And yet the past still feels like the present
even here, I can't run from it. Lainee
lives homeward but here I lay
wayward and the current's sweeping me up
if I let it.