*That permafrost runs grounded,
soil as iced as tempered tundra sands.*
I called you when I got to Rio.
There be a savior alight on a mountain top.
Five messages and a cigar. True to you in my fashion.
Fit brown head in the bathroom, goin' a'gettin' ahead and not behind.
Five messages and a cigar. Shoe-shining. Nods goodbye.
Them Brazilians are sure to be shoe-tappin' good–
I leave some messages.
I smoke a cigar.
*Ringing rang raw through the apartment's hide,
twice and again. And then twice more.*