Georgie ran with the wind in his fur, Out of Winnipeg, no papers, no past. Just paws on the ground, a ghost in the smoke, Too lost to be found, he longed for a light. He hated the shrubs that clawed at his soul, Thorns of the past taking their toll each step. Through the darkness, a place where the shrub would fade, From his sight, DOCTOR GRAM reflects under Pantone skies. Walks little Georgie to his vast emerald mine, Not a care in the world, nothing but spare time. Heartbreak and bones,...