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Oct 2018
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.
Written by
Marla
  282
   Shanna
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