| Lyrics: | If you start here late, no one will know what you did
No, the streets are straight, it's the
soul that's crooked
I've been treated fine,
I've been treated elegantly
But I'm not one
for bathing in the waters of plenty
East is East,
West is West
And The Bowery is
screaming while Delancey rests
Well, I'm south of the skating, but
I'm north of the cash
I could sure use the money but
I'm ashamed to ask
The traffic has buried all of last
night's rain
The words are all different but the accent is the same
The sun is white,
and the moon is gray
And the river is black, blue and green
The young are young, and the old
are old
There are no shades of gray in between
There's at least ten different strains
of smoke in the air
And my prints are on them all, to prove I was there
And I love the
curses, but I'm not one for the trenches
Yes I do love the walking , but that God for the
benches
It's hard to tell where green begins, and the city gray stops
I guess the trees all
bought their armor at second hand shops
My second hand is working, but the minute hand broke
again
I know time will pass, but I don't know when
The sun is white, and the moon is
gray
And the river is black, blue and green
The young are young, and the old are old
And there are no shades of gray in between
And there are no shades of gray in
between
I know the great ones have been here, but where I can't tell
There's dreams
here a plenty, but they're being witheld
And I'm more impressed with the closed doors
Than
the ones that are open
The whole place tells time by a tower clock that's broken
The pigeons
are ravens, and the gulls are vultures
And trash |
