On a dirty street corner beneath a steel gray sky,
Old Enid plays his blues as the crowds just rush on by.
Just a crazy old man – dented sax and tangled hair.
Wailing out his benedictions.
Crumbling old brick building, Mary drinks her tea.
A well-worn Bible and a blanket on her knees.
She hears the gunfire from the alley down below.
While sirens sing of Armageddon.
Manhattan sleeps tonight
Under a blanket of new fallen snow.
Quiet as the light from towers pierce the fog
Softly glows.
I can feel the ghosts haunting the streets far below -
Waiting.
A full moon rises pulling people like the tide.
As the snow keeps falling on an ocean deep and wide.
Each fragile crystal melts into the sea,
In a moment of transition.
A frozen blanket, bathed in silver light.
The streets lie muted in the alchemy of night.
But when the spring comes, who knows what will have grown,
In the cracks between the stones.
Manhattan sleeps tonight
Under a blanket of new fallen snow.
Quiet as the light from towers pierce the fog
Softly glows.
I can feel the ghosts haunting the streets far below -
Waiting.
Old Enid dreams, in the warmth of vented steam
Of better days to come.
Mary's fears seem to ring in her ears,
As she stares out the window at a million frozen falling stars.
Manhattan sleeps tonight
Under a blanket of new fallen snow.
Quiet as the light from towers pierce the fog
Softly glows.
I can feel the ghosts haunting the streets far below -
Waiting.