| Said we never should have let them go
|
| But we let them go
|
| To find a living in the foreign places
|
| Where the crazy faces made them feel so low
|
| A thousand promises we meant to keep
|
| But we could not keep
|
| We built a city out of junkyard alleys
|
| And landscape valleys, where dead men sleep
|
| Ah, but you were a playboy; |
| you could
|
| Always sing along
|
| Even at those New York Wakes you were
|
| Always good for a song
|
| And you said «Hey New York, come on tell m
|
| Can this be the promised land? |
| ''
|
| Clos your eyes and you can feel all right
|
| In the teeming night
|
| And set your face against the rush of feet
|
| And the sidewalk heat and the cafe light
|
| Just remember what they said at home
|
| When you went alone
|
| That no one here is going to fake the time
|
| To read your mind or save your soul
|
| But you were a dancer when there was dancing in the streets
|
| Night-time boys and Broadway Jigs helped
|
| Keep your footwork neat
|
| And you said «Hey New York, come on tell me
|
| Can this be the promised land»? |