We are Odessa. We carry her in our blood. We will be old and we will die— But she will not. For there will be new ones. Young ones that, like us, Search for the answers On the bottoms of whiskey bottles. That lose their souls between old buildings, Sell their humanity for warm bodies, Pleasure, And for the life that the old Talk about living. The young that keep the vicious circle Burning like a ring of fire On the top of the mountain of Purgatory. Over and over again. Oh, Magic City, your streets Embody everything that I ever was— And all I ever will be. I dream of you And every night, I walk your cobbled roads Under which my heart beats— Searching for traces of you Come dawn. For though I am not in Odessa— Forever she is in me. I am Odessa, For she is in my blood. Daniel Fruman
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