City of Ghosts
Goldblade
Tumbling through a neon-lit antiseptic reality
Running past billboards advertising nothing
I melted in the sponsored summer sun
I saw the girl with the cyberspace face; she smiled with plastic teeth
Turned on by the static babble of endless media channels
Tumble on past the polyurethane plastic hi-tech baubles
Antiseptic not real but somehow erotic
I lost the girl with the imaginary face in a haze of acid rain
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