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I got a book of photographs from old Sing Sing |
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They used to say upstate, and that's what they'd mean |
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It's such a prettier name for such an awful place |
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And every page you're looking at another blank face |
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And you know, you have to find a way to pass time |
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And that's what I've been doing for a while now, baby |
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I've been marking each day with the light on the wall |
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And waiting by the telephone to take that call |
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And you try to change my mind, about to choose this |
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'Cause you know too well the history of excuses |
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Looking the clean to that liquor machine |
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That can jingle their coffers all gold bus tweed |
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And jingle the heavens and driving the bus |
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'Cause there's hatches in the back and nothing but this whole hook |
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And you know, I wish that I could change it with a vote |
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But I never found myself on the right side of the polls |
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You got a dream, well, I'm out in the open |
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And there's mountains and trees and the smell of the ocean |
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I try to change my mind, about to choose this |
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'Cause you know too well the history of excuses |
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I'm down riding on a Hudson River train |
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I'm at the window as we're passing by the Rockefeller Estate |
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I used to buy up all the houses just to clear 'em away |
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'Cause they cluttered the view of the far palisades |
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Now I came by one house, let alone a valley full |
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And my only view is of some blank wall |
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It gets tired of being confined |
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And waiting around in holes, I got you for tied |
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And I try to change my mind, about to choose this |
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'Cause you know too well the history of excuses |
