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.