You say you're bound for New York
A promise that leaves me breathless
But I don't even know you.
Is it something in the lights?
Is it something in the smog
That keeps the artists flooding in
To “get by” in dank apartments
With smudges on their walls
And coffee rings on their tables?
Dear New York,
I know that we have yet to meet,
So please forgive me when I say,
I've got a bone to pick with you.
‘Cause your skyline could be better
And I'm sure it's not your weather
That beckons to the painters
And whisks away the actors
And promises the writers something more
It’s not that I don’t trust you,
It’s just that I don’t get you,
And why you tend to steal the ones I love
So if you really are a magic place
My only wish is this:
Oh New York, don’t break them.
P.S. I’ll see you soon.
5 years ago