Nights like these
It's hard not to feel high.
The depression intoxicates me
While the jazz stands seranading.
'Round midnight,
I find myself staring at a wall
Picturing the scene.
I'm home again,
Happy
In that Grand terminal,
Where the trains sing and hum
Me a brassy welcome.
The spirit of the city
Is my religion.
Although I may not be there
I carry it with me wherever
I go.
The city is with me because it is me,
At least that's what I tell myself.
Once I snap out of this,
My delusions of joy will leave me
With nothing but longing
For all that Jazz way up north
In dear old New York.