New York America, you’re a stone in my shoe
New York America, like my brother’s face i thought i knew when
we were kids
before the mustache grew
i still can’t see you, and i’m starin’ you down
i still can’t see you, and i’m starin’ you down
New York America, you’re a wing on my bird
New York America, like the voice out in the hallway i heard
disappear
before i caught a word
i still can’t see you, and i’m starin’ you down
i still can’t see you, and i’m starin’ you down
down
down (and i keep on starin’)
down
down (and i keep on starin’)
down
dow-ee-ow-en
New York America, you’re the rain on my lawn
New York America, like a broken mirror whose pieces yawn i’ve
looked into
but can’t find the man i’ve drawn
i still can’t see you, and i’m starin’ you down
i still can’t see you, and i’m starin’ you down
Words and Music by Rick Stachura. “New York America.” July 2001.
Photo by Rick Stachura. Pot Cove. Astoria, Queens. March 21, 2021.
1 comment for “New York America”