"Smog and concrete, I taste this air, coal, pours down my sweating skin, running, through hardened Shanghai streets, burning, early mourn and overcast. October fell, China launched a red taikonaut.
To earth, gracefully, somewhat not, I stumble along uneven paths, racing on, running from, the torment of unaccomplished tasks. 'Where is my rocket? Where is my gun? Where is my power to carry on?'
This revolution, life and death, beseech me, to love and hate, I soldier on, through Shanghai streets."
