| One, two, three
|
| One, two, three
|
| Down in Asbury Park
|
| In a sublet, I’m renting
|
| I got a new job
|
| Where I’m out painting houses
|
| The sun on my neck
|
| And some cash in my pocket
|
| At least there’s fresh air here
|
| I watch families stroll by
|
| With their kids on vacation
|
| Scrape decades of lead paint
|
| And salt air off porches
|
| Alone with my thoughts
|
| And a breeze off the ocean
|
| I smile for the first time this year
|
| And I walk alone
|
| In the mist of the evening
|
| Under the glow of the Paramount sign
|
| I watch the sky turn violet with light
|
| On the fourth of July
|
| I’ve been spending my nights in a dive off the boardwalk
|
| A sad open mic I’ve been playing these damn songs
|
| They yell out for Springsteen, or Dylan, or Mitchell
|
| But these, these are all that I’ve got
|
| And I walk alone
|
| In the mist of the evening
|
| Under the glow of the Paramount sign
|
| I watch the sky turn violet with light
|
| On the fourth of July
|
| I’ve picked up smoking again
|
| 'Cause I like how it makes all the days go by fast
|
| Picked up smoking again
|
| 'Cause something’s gonna kill me some day
|
| So why not that?
|
| I’m smoking again
|
| 'Cause I like it
|
| Why can’t I just like it?
|
| I’m smoking again
|
| I walk alone
|
| In the mist of the evening
|
| Under the glow of the Paramount sign
|
| I watch the sky turn violet with light
|
| On the fourth of July |