The lonely cobbled stones,
and your old lonely cobbled heart.
Surrendered to the mysteries,
always, from the very start.
The city, all around you,
the pulse, the sway,
the forming of.....
the soul that marches forward now,
lost without a glowing God.

Friday nights and neon lights
defused with time and space.
Look upon a flowing stream,
upon the human race.
The sway, the way,
the right to say.
The march it must go on.
The way we all surrender,
the way we always carry on.