Westbound on North Avenue

There is a crescent moon hanging over Wicker Park
It is like a pregnant tear drop bursting with sadness
The awkward mating rituals continue fueled by alcohol
And by a day too long in the summer sun
North Avenue is quiet for a Friday night
North Avenue is quiet for the only perfect night in memory
These spirits aren’t even from here – but they want to be
That will have to be good enough for them
On this perfect Friday on North Avenue in Wicker Park
Floating past the melancholy crescent moon

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