Laurence Overmire - Chances lyrics

1 a.m. in Brooklyn Out of the subway's cold, enveloping dark The man emerges Briefcase in hand, hurrying to get Home Wary eyes watching, glance in all directions. The streets deserted, foreboding in the stillness The light of lamps unable to spell the lingering dread Shadows creeping across the brick Inside vestibules where doors are locked. Walking faster Past shops barricaded with steel curtains Fortification against the night While somewhere in the deepening fog A siren bleeds. At the end of one long block Another two to go Just outside a closed café Something on the sidewalk By the sewer grate Large and—what—? A body. Lies unmoving. Alive or dead? What to do? Finger nails polished, red on pale white skin Female. Face down, tucked and covered in dark hair. What to do? To get involved in what? In Brooklyn 1 a.m. Not my business, not to know He thought Move on, she must be sleeping Drugged or drunk Someone else will stop. The hour is late A morning's rise at 6 a.m. Meetings to be deadlined No time to waste She must be sleeping. Someone else behind me Someone else will Stop. Move on. In the slanting rays of the rising sun The bustling of a new and proper day Keepers opening windows, shops He walks past quickly A bright cafe An empty sidewalk Nothing by the sewer grate But stuck in his head forever The nagging not knowing Alive or dead? He didn't stop.