A man come down the road a piece and he look up and find himself In the city of lights and damn
But the Bronx is a tragic and lost kingdom as the sun drops outside my 13th floor window and I come to rest here
What runic tiltings have you been at today, young man, that the red about thine eyes receeds enough to see the clear whites the dark middles sparkle a little again
You are not in some I-40 porno shop in Missouri tonight, You are not fucking on a futon in LA You will not speak to the woman you loved And you are blessed
If the world reels tonight from the body blows of your drunkenness, spin.