spinning out of control over black ice
on the bridge into downtown Milwaukee
a singer with bits of Chicago
still lodged in his throat
rock n' roll in his guts
in his nuts
in both of his nostrils
the bass player's amp
smashed against his face
and like a true motherfucker of devil music
he sneered at death
unafraid
but it was not death upon him
it was imprisonment
a soul sentenced to a moment
and a body that walked away
full of lament
to have died that day
would have been so much easier
than the last nine years spent
trying to help a ghost escape its chains
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