JasonTalbott ///

New York City doesn't feel right it's too hot it's too cold

It's a pile made of garbage but it's plated with gold

It's covered in a garment made of flannel and satin

There's a hundred thousand people on the street in Manhattan

 

Something doesn't seem right: A conflict in the air

Starting with the vendors with appetizing fare

But every now and then I catch scent of something new

A sour and repulsive emanation coming through

 

Hungry or disgusted, I can't make up my mind

Savory or fetid, they both are intertwined

A mask of shine and perfume, in truth, it needs a bath

A trail of filth and litter all along the primrose path

 

Never seen so many faces, no where to get away

And yet no one to talk to if you had something to say

The building tops are soaring, the train is underground

You know that it is daytime but the sun it can't be found

 

You're walking through a canyon if you don't know what I mean

Where the walls are made of concrete and the river in between

them is roaring honking traffic and the people have to swim

Don't ever be shy, it never runs dry and the fish don't ever win

 

They fry they fry

 

I'm leaving here tomorrow in a rush to get back home

To peace and sanity, away from crime and chrome

I don't think I'd return here given my own choice

No offense, it's just too tense, when I'm home I will rejoice

 

I find Manhattan's all or nothing, you find no in-between

They say that it's not dirty, I don't think that it's clean

I'd have to say, 'nope, there's not enough soap', that task is quite a chore

I'd drop that mop then run don't stop, I'm never coming back no more.