I think you can find the right guy,
the one who holds your hand in public,
tells you he’s gotten something for you,
and even though it’s hot chocolate,
it says more about him than a five-star dinner from another.

You can find the right guy,
if you let go of all of the wrong ones,
the doctor-like type who buys your love
more than he gives it,
or the guy who leaves you hanging,
wondering when somebody will untie you from the monkey bars.

The right guy won’t be perfect;
I can promise you that.
But the right guy, he will be right,
at least for some time.

If that seems to be exactly what you want,
then go find that right guy.
Don’t stop until he’s holding your hand
and bringing you hot chocolate;
however,
if you want more than that,
don’t stop until you’ve gotten more,
more than a hand holding yours
or hot chocolate in the cold.

Find the one,
the one who’s driven you mad,
the one that you’re dumb enough,
dumb enough to leave the right one for.
Find him. Find him in the local restaurant,
the one who wears those beige shorts,
with the big cross across his neck
that guy smiling when he sees you join him,
to leave for a concert, or a drink at the bar.

The one who doesn’t say everything right,
nor tries to.
The one who makes more mistakes than you would like,
but you wouldn’t leave for a million other rights
because you know his one right is more like left,
but his left is also the rightest right you’ve ever met.

Fulton tower, our steel queen,
how you make me cry,
love at first sight.

You’re so high; fresh and standing free,
innocent, but we know your roots.

Black ashes polluting the street, debris clouds,
Those willing to jump. Those willing to die.
Those willing to take others’ lives for pride.
Those who didn’t have the choice.

Fulton tower, I cry. It’s hard
to embrace your beauty
while remembering the past.