[Em]Smoke rises from an [C]ice factory on the edge, [G]On the edge of a city that exists in p[D]erpetual gloom. I s[Em]natch a note from the basket of a p[C]assing bicycle. It says ?[G]Go to the flour factory. There?s something w[D]aiting there for you.? Under the [A]window, covered by c[C]urtains, all l[G]acy and splattered with b[D]lood, we...