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