Lyrics:

If you start here late, no one will know what you did No, the streets are straight, it's the soul that's crooked I've been treated fine, I've been treated elegantly But I'm not one for bathing in the waters of plenty East is East, West is West And The Bowery is screaming while Delancey rests Well, I'm south of the skating, but I'm north of the cash I could sure use the money but I'm ashamed to ask The traffic has buried all of last night's rain The words are all different but the accent is the same The sun is white, and the moon is gray And the river is black, blue and green The young are young, and the old are old There are no shades of gray in between There's at least ten different strains of smoke in the air And my prints are on them all, to prove I was there And I love the curses, but I'm not one for the trenches Yes I do love the walking , but that God for the benches It's hard to tell where green begins, and the city gray stops I guess the trees all bought their armor at second hand shops My second hand is working, but the minute hand broke again I know time will pass, but I don't know when The sun is white, and the moon is gray And the river is black, blue and green The young are young, and the old are old And there are no shades of gray in between And there are no shades of gray in between I know the great ones have been here, but where I can't tell There's dreams here a plenty, but they're being witheld And I'm more impressed with the closed doors Than the ones that are open The whole place tells time by a tower clock that's broken The pigeons are ravens, and the gulls are vultures And trash