| It’s 3 AM in New York
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| Sometime in 1995
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| The other half of the world
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| The other side
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| It might have been warm outside, maybe cold
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| Who could tell?
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| Three of us stumbled into room 421
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| At the Grammercy Park Hotel
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| It’s 3 AM in New York
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| We sat for a while
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| We started to talk
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| We started to smile
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| Then he played a song I knew very well
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| 3 AM in New York
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| At the Grammercy Park Hotel
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| He passed the guitar around
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| Over and over and over again
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| Till one of us broke a string
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| It was probably him
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| But the songs came out strong
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| They were loud, they were long
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| There were songs about girls, about boys
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| Sung a lot, screamed a lot
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| We made lots of noise
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| It’s 3 AM in New York
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| It’s the time of my life
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| Minstrels and maidens and heartbroken songs
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| Made me cry
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| And we were anonymous, androgynous
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| Bearers of truth
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| And the indie rock columnists would have freaked out
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| If they knew
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| It’s 3 AM in New York
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| And I knew we were right
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| We were young, not so young
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| And in love with our lives
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| 3 AM in New York
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| I went back to bed
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| Three lone true prophets
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| With songs in our heads
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| It’s 3 AM in New York
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| And I just felt God
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| Lying awake in the dark
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| I was in awe
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| And I know in reality
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| It might not be true
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| But for three of us here in New York
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| It’s all we could do I know it’s just songs, played on guitars
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| It’s not rocket science, flying to Mars
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| And I know it’s not much, but it’s all that I have
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| To be sure that I’m real
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| Again and again
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| And If there comes a day
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| When my fingers don’t work
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| Or my voice loses sound
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| Gives me grief, gives me hurt
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| Well, I swear on that day
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| When I lose what’s worthwhile
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| From that day forth I never shall smile
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| It’s 3 AM in New York
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| I feel fine, I feel well
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| Sound asleep
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| At the Grammercy Park Hotel |