Escape the grind of the day
A few minutes stole away
A smoke down on the edge of the marina
Where no one would see ya
The Dearborn traffic above
Quiet as thieves since the wind had lulled
Some men stood on a boat slowly passing me
With the look of a losing team
From underneath of the towers of Chicago
Deep down in the canyons at river level
Those towers appearing to stand 10 times taller
Making me feel that I’m that much smaller
Under the towers of Chicago
There was a tarp on the boat
Which couldn’t cover the blackened bloat
An arm rose to the sky from underneath it
Lost a grip on my cigarette
