Lyrics:

If you start here late, no one will know what you didNo, the streets are straight, it's the soul that's crookedI've b
een treated fine,I've been treated elegantlyBut I'm not one for bathing in the waters of plentyEast is East,West is WestAn
d The Bowery is screaming while Delancey restsWell, I'm south of the skating, butI'm north of the cashI could sure use the m
oney butI'm ashamed to askThe traffic has buried all of last night's rainThe words are all different but the accent is the s
ameThe sun is white, and the moon is grayAnd the river is black, blue and greenThe young are young, and the old are oldThe
re are no shades of gray in betweenThere's at least ten different strains of smoke in the airAnd my prints are on them all,
to prove I was thereAnd I love the curses, but I'm not one for the trenchesYes I do love the walking , but that God for the b
enchesIt's hard to tell where green begins, and the city gray stopsI guess the trees all bought their armor at second hand sh
opsMy second hand is working, but the minute hand broke againI know time will pass, but I don't know whenThe sun is white,
and the moon is grayAnd the river is black, blue and greenThe young are young, and the old are oldAnd there are no shades of
gray in betweenAnd there are no shades of gray in betweenI know the great ones have been here, but where I can't tellThere
's dreams here a plenty, but they're being witheldAnd I'm more impressed with the closed doorsThan the ones that are openThe
whole place tells time by a tower clock that's brokenThe pigeons are ravens, and the gulls are vulturesAnd trash