Why can't I behave when I'm in New York City
Something 'bout the concrete makes me want to fall upon it drunkenly
And wander off into the park and buy a dime bag
Maybe it's oregano as long as I can smoke it whoa
And I don't want
To be the kind of man
Who when he leaves his home
He needs a chaperone
Cause I'm not twenty three no more I got savings and a mortgage
A couple other signifiers that I'm all growed up
Gray flecks in my beard make me the old guy at the concert
I should be in bed and reading books about the Civil War
And I recall
The day I learned bout death
That it was surely on the menu
And coming for us all
But I'm not thinking 'bout that now in New York City
I'm hoping trouble finds me and if memory serves it will
All the girls walk by and they are oh so pretty
When I was in college were these people even born my God
And whoa
The feeling that comes over me
When strolling down near Ludlow St
I want to be another me
A wide-eyed lad who knows nothing of roads not taken
He only serves adventure and he wants to kiss the world
He sleeps til noon and stuffs his face with beer and bread and butter
He's an okay kid but still you want to slap him hard across his
Face the facts
Time has made short work of you
One day you will be fifty two
And then what are you gonna do
Then fifty four
Then fifty eight
Then seventy
Seventy eight
It's late it's late
Go to bed
I've grown to love the mornings and I really hate to miss them
The light at six a.m. it speaks of grace and second chances
And the thing is in my younger days I didn't know that they existed
Unless I stayed up through the night and watched the sunrise drunk and stoned
But oh those days
I don't want to be young again
But I want to find some hope again
Be in on the joke again
I'm gonna die
We're gonna die
But not today
Oh how I pray
For time just a little more time
