The night Lou Reed diedEvery bar in the cityThe big borough cityplayed the poetwho encapsulatedwhat drove us down to towntook us back into our livesand captured what needed encapsulation anticipation.Dreams to live to die bysometimes shuddering our way homewhilst we tried to recall our listless motivationsto get our asses out of lost townsand onto the bridges that always smiled at uswhile we waited for acceptance or acknowledgementsomething that made the beat worth defendingThe cripples chalice-singPast sifted by the moment