Warm smoke hugs you
With the sound of kids coughing their last lung
Chairs squeak with any burst of laughter
Ash trays filled with forgotten cigs.
The mics are held up with duct tape
Lit by neglected neon signs
Computers filled with shapes to create sound
Powered by dreams of teens
This is where it starts
And where is ends for many
But some
Find the right recipe
And never look back.