|
The sun comes swaggering across the harbour, |
|
And kisses the lady waiting in the narrows, |
|
She already plenty shaky stands there, |
|
Blushing, clutching the torch of liberty, |
|
Uptown Luigi who dont speak english so good, |
|
Is having an accident, |
|
Backing his dumptruck into the fence, |
|
The tin cans go clattering down the lane, |
|
A drowsy bum thinks its thunder, |
|
And pulls the news over his head to stop the rain. |
|
No, it ain't judgement day, |
|
No, it ain't Armageddon, |
|
It's just the apple stretching and yawning, just morning. |
|
New York putting it's feet on the floor, |
|
It's just the apple stretching and yawning, just morning, |
|
New York putting it's feet on the floor. |
|
Suburban refugees fleeing the cracked cisterns, |
|
Worm ridden fruit trees stream out Grand Central, |
|
Please to be breathing bagels and pollution. |
|
In Time Square new graffiti, old revolutions, |
|
A bag lady is cursing the waiter for giving her a free coffee |
|
Lucky he's a Jesus freak moonlighting, |
|
At the Acme discount store over in Queens, |
|
The burglar alarm starts to scream, |
|
A cop picks out his gun fires one and yells, "FREEZE!". |
|
No, it ain't Worl War Four, |
|
No, it ain't World War Four, |
|
It's just the apple stretching and yawning, just morning, |
|
New York putting its feet on the floor. |
|
Nearby the Hudson a hooker makes a 'U', |
|
To help a blind man to his pew in the park, |
|
Some long ago home training jars the memory, |
|
The bag lady says 'Thank you' and curties. |
|
The herd of beaten tourists limp homeward, |
|
Having bitten off more than they could chew, |
|
Moaning them old big city blues, |
|
Miss Liberty depicts her qualms and grins, |
|
Another subway starts rattling, |
|
And Luigi's cans go clattering down the hill. |
|
No, it ain't some kind of ill wind, |
|
No, it ain't the world coming to an end, |
|
Just the apple stretching and yawning, just morning, |
|
New York putting its feet on the floor. |