|
I used to live in New York City; |
|
Everything there was dark and dirty. |
|
Outside my window was a steeple |
|
With a clock that always said twelve-thirty. |
|
Young girls are coming to the canyon, |
|
And in the mornings I can see them walking. |
|
I can no longer keep my blinds drawn, |
|
And I can't keep myself from talking. |
|
At first so strange to feel so friendly--- |
|
To say good morning and really mean it--- |
|
To feel these changes happening in me, |
|
But not to notice till I feel it. |
|
Young girls are coming to the canyon, |
|
And in the mornings I can see them walking. |
|
I can no longer keep my blinds drawn, |
|
And I can't keep myself from talking. |
|
Cloudy waters cast no reflection; |
|
Images of beauty lie there stagnant. |
|
Vibrations bounce in no direction, |
|
And lie there shattered into fragments. |
|
Young girls are coming to the canyon, |
|
(Young girls are in the canyon) |
|
And in the mornings I can see them walking. |
|
(In the mornings I can see them walking) |
|
I can no longer keep my blinds drawn, |
|
(Can no longer keep my blinds drawn) |
|
And I can't keep myself from talking... |
