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Concrete, Concrete, Concrete Jungle I can't wait to be with you. Your streets that shine like glass in the sunlight, and your trees that grow tall enough to touch the Sun
Standing on your walkway gives me chills, Glowing beautifully with your astounding street flare. And the performances through the cheery nights
Even the rainbows seem gray in this puddle we call Elmira Slushy in winter, sticky in summer I wish I could feel safe at night Mark Twain is buried here and his ghost continues to haunt us
When we met you told me you loved me. The people were passing in an unusual rush. The mood was like when someone falls down; as if God pressed pause for a second to breathe.
Hard to sleep in my city
The world is a lonely place for a child so small, Everyone is big and scary,
There really isn't anything safe about the world we live. We walk outside of our homes everyday and only God knows what will happen. Because there aint nothin a prayer could do.
I woke up in a place unknown Everyone was moving fast They seemed busy Everywhere you turn is a new journey Even though everything looks the same The streets are numbers
Everyday Same time Your front door creaks, did you notice? Mine does, too. 10:30 AM, you walk out of your apartment- The one right across the hall from mine- And I make sure I walk out, too.
There once was a girl from New York,
From the break of day to nightfall copious passengers: overworked mothers, college students, gang members, important business men, with facial declarations that are impossible to conceal
Ever since I laid my eyes on you, nothing was the same. Even the clouds I land on change Like setting fire to the motherfucking rain From the first time to the next, Or the next to the first time
Teach me the pulsating beat of the city, that raw, man-made harmony, smooth, yet gritty. Surround me with hustle, bustle, chaos, an insanity, those signs that we are dictated by our own humanity.
This city is dead and this place is sin. Alive with corpses and politics. With their perfected frowns and crooked grins; will I ever be the same? The sights and sounds hide the disease of this overrated hypocrisy:
Today I stood in line on Lafayette Street behind three middle-aged black women waiting for the opportunity to interview for a job for which we were all overqualified.
Here in the big city that never sleeps… The building of Empire, the Midtown rush, From places to go, and people to meet, Reborn every day from chaotic hush. The boulevard of lights and New Year’s Dreams, Isle of immigrants, Lady Liberty. Horse-dra
Rushed out of school, without a clue in the world Thousands of people died in the last half hour Moms, dads, sons, and daughters..
Peeling scales in rosetta geometry down the rail Slick tile bearings, cigarette stained Haughty men (women too) locked in iron stride Shoulder brash against shoulder Stench one way, perfume another
Feeling the cool wind flow through my hair hearing the crunch of the fallen leaves under my shoes smelling hot cider as I walk in the door seeing all the colors of the leaves
Most of us say we need it, but do we truly believe it? We are in constant competition to win the prize: job positions, checks written; Don't look surprised.
The beautiful time of spring Grass is green All around the cherry blossom trees Hear baby birds singing Flowers start to bloom Rivers and streans flow Flip flops come out of the closet
As the seasons change, drops of dust pour from the looming clouds of asbestos The transitional breeze from winter to spring holds that certain smell and weight to it; the ozone gets excited, too
The ride down to Canal takes a really long time Especially when you swipe the card and ride the 6 line. Stop after stop Enter and Exit Ages range from ancient to infant Strollers Bikes And bags