Paging dramatic sky, come in dramatic sky, come in

What is this place Great Cthulhu?

Which judged by its lowest lows

Embodies those who go by names not social device

My city the drug dealer, the homeless schizophrenic

My city the shitty landlord, the constant siren

My city the obstacle course, the affected college student

The polluted, crime-ridden, stereotyped, constantly under construction, meth capitol USA

Asshole of Seattle, my city the fucked up dead-end of a town

City, with all you possess

No wonder you weep without notice

And your people, ever cast in plastic grays and greens

Parade through drizzle, your quiet but constant drizzle

Reflecting a sunken past and a soaking present

That falls from hoods and drips down pink noses

Passing an exhaled smog

A smog of discontent, perhaps

But also a smog of resilience, of hope

Of positivity, of potential, of knowing that while this is not quite the top

It is far from the bottom

The rip of tape from skin strip after strip

Tacoma, the swamp of middle-American delusion

And so-called convenience

But its places to convene…

Places where trees still rule the earth

Where the sound crashes

Calling rain to moisture

Shells and shale to shore

Nearby the clank of trains and bicycles

Roams our city the terror

Squirming and scrapping its long claws

From rustic warehouse to graffitied coffee shop

Ancient Cthulhu, whose surroundings may origin or result from

As if with spare parts of the deep

Your mighty arms placed this town together

A dome here, a giant teapot there

Your materials seem wild but

Your plans are to rebuild

In the muck that grew you

Through some whim of fortune or mutation

Like spirits, our ancestors inspired and revived you

Inspired you to climb up from your slumber

Crack through toxic silted air and

Reclaim the oasis of our city’s destiny

No matter who or what declared it so

While our city, Tacoma

Like legends before and all things to come

Will one day sink back into its primordial creator

This place knows itself

Where it has been and where it’s going

It knows community comes from desire

That color strives from gates

That glass can only be born from fire

And this lost city, though fragile

Shall burn once more