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.