So now on the brink of new dawn America while the sun rises and I begin to sink – dreary eyed into my bed I look back and remember old faces in the crowd, girls in bright sun-dresses walking the markets, men, young old entangled in the social dance, climbing latter ladders to the stars, the only trouble being that they keep sinking and never seem to gain any head-way to the heavens. I cough up mud and hunks of clay and fall face down on the floor, paralyzed by the sorry tale. I sink into the rug and send my sympathy out to the world, but here in Chicago the sky looms heavy on the backs of men, and words and tenderness and the all around noble heart are weighed down and weary and my love goes only as far as I can throw my voice and is muted by the city…