| Snow in a soulless city covers up the cracks in the road
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| As a wastrel buys her cigarettes and wipes her pretty nose
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| Like a part-time Elvis imitator these streets I knew so well
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| Have been pasted beyond recognition with a temporary smell
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| Now the midnight train eases out leaving everyone marooned
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| And without her it might as well be the surface of the moon
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| From the well-swept streets of Jackson Heights to the dockside drudgery
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| Everything’s now a replica of what it used to be
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| And since they tarted up the trenches and painted the bridges blue
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| It seems less like a home to me than just a place they bury you
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| Now we’re lit up like a cathedral in our frozen concrete ruin
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| And without her it might as well be the surface of the moon
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| So I need her and I love her that is true
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| But I’m stuck here like some shipwreck still holding on to you
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| So when they beat out the tramps and patch up the slums
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| Everything will be fine
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| There’ll be a new facade for us to hide behind
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| So on the ancient trails of our coupling in the places we used to meet
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| I am amazed by the lack of memories that I thought would flood through me
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| And the riverside where we first kissed has now been reduced
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| To a phoney old world market where only shoppers get seduced
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| Now your arms embrace me strangely in your unfamiliar room
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| And for all I care it might as well be the surface of the moon
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| Yeah for all I care it might as well be the surface of the moon |