If you start here late, no one will know what you did

No, the streets are straight, it's the soul that's crooked

I've been treated fine,

I've been treated elegantly

But I'm not one for bathing in the waters of plenty

East is East,

West is West

And The Bowery is screaming while Delancey rests

Well, I'm south of the skating, but

I'm north of the cash

I could sure use the money but

I'm ashamed to ask

The traffic has buried all of last night's rain

The words are all different but the accent is the same



The sun is white, and the moon is gray

And the river is black, blue and green

The young are young, and the old are old

There are no shades of gray in between



There's at least ten different strains of smoke in the air

And my prints are on them all, to prove I was there

And I love the curses, but I'm not one for the trenches

Yes I do love the walking , but that God for the benches

It's hard to tell where green begins, and the city gray stops

I guess the trees all bought their armor at second hand shops

My second hand is working, but the minute hand broke again

I know time will pass, but I don't know when



The sun is white, and the moon is gray

And the river is black, blue and green

The young are young, and the old are old

And there are no shades of gray in between

And there are no shades of gray in between



I know the great ones have been here, but where I can't tell

There's dreams here a plenty, but they're being witheld

And I'm more impressed with the closed doors

Than the ones that are open

The whole place tells time by a tower clock that's broken

The pigeons are ravens, and the gulls are vultures

And trash