This ain't nothing like Tokyo
The rumble & rock - eh, Io?
yeah. - It goes. It comes
I don't - well, no - what
went up

is still hanging
around.
And the taste of ash
chokes out the sound, then a wind
of cotton -

And now like floating, Io.
Like waiting for coming down,
my shoulders burn &
you red glow. - Quirked.

lights the man:
they really pack ‘em in
        in Tokyo.