This is the break that we wanted Not coming back to this broken house The black sea from the Bowery is growing old The city, and this dead scene and my cherry radio From the light of the wings and the silver spurs Comes a letter to the coast from your worn out daughter
Spinning as I'm watching how they come and go All the stories of the south trees and the north lights afterglow Photographs of the city break into my head With all the things you said Photographs of the change that takes me away From all the things you say