come to New York
now that I am back.
for good or ill.
and let's see a movie
and hold hands.
do you see me?
those days are behind me.
only cigars and hard-bound books,
but it don't make no difference
whether the weather
because we ain't shit
for farmers or future.
on may way,
I am far worse than you,
especially your pretty, tattooed skin,
on this Sunday under the dumb sun.
there is a sign on the door, there is a reason,
4th street, forever, harmonies in a folk song,
I am back on my way to where every started,
in hopes of finding something.