Out to meet a friend in outer space- I call him and say I've worn out my name
On walls and faces, in voices and streets; in too many situations not of my making
But I'm feeling so much better after a smoke and drink; cuts and scars are blotted in ink
Tourists with headaches; herders in taxis; eight million hands writing one story
New york is a bone carved on a stone; worn through your nose; scratching your soul
Out to meet a friend for a little comedy; she calls and says she's living the dream
In meetings, at parties; in clubs and limousines-touching lives of quality
I'm feeling so much better, then she disappears; into her phone, billboards, and mirrors
I want to see my time; hold it my hands; everything at once is shaken in a glass
Home for the evening the phone rings; the voice of my mom asks, "How's everything?"
"It couldn't be better; it's moving-thanks for the letter and the money"
I'm feeling so much better inside my window; music covers shouting below
Four thousand cupcakes, an ocean of milk; eight million paper plates in the same bin