New York Has a Lump in Her Throat
New York has a lump in her throat
She tore up the letters I wrote
Long Island Shore is ravaged today
Stones cry out, what do they say
Joggers run in lines of Morse code
The Beatles' blood seeped into the road
I store up the fragments and grit
Unkind words, sweet lover's spit
Wear me down, baby
Wear me down
Fire escapes and dreams of Hades
Wear me down
Wear me down
The same energy which created a symphony by Mozart
Is shared by The Beatles in making Sgt. Pepper
It is the same intuitive impulse of the imagination
Which in itself is perhaps the closest mankind can ever come to a sense of the divine
The interesting part in all this is attempting to reconcile those two impulses
The impulse to impersonate and the impulse to invent
It seems as though being an artist involves maintaining that equilibrium
In a way that isn't a detriment to you or your craft
The caravans of childhood are gone
But August sunlight scorches the lawn
Dharma bluebells blossom in me
Orgastic green vibrates from the trees
City in mind and city in breath
A million pixels manifest death
Champagne sipped from four paper cups
Benzaiten is soon to wake up
Wear me down, baby
Wear me down
Fire escapes and dreams of Hades
Wear me down
Wear me down
Wear me down, baby
Wear me down
Fire escapes and dreams of Hades
Wear me down
Wear me down
She tore up the letters I wrote
Long Island Shore is ravaged today
Stones cry out, what do they say
Joggers run in lines of Morse code
The Beatles' blood seeped into the road
I store up the fragments and grit
Unkind words, sweet lover's spit
Wear me down, baby
Wear me down
Fire escapes and dreams of Hades
Wear me down
Wear me down
The same energy which created a symphony by Mozart
Is shared by The Beatles in making Sgt. Pepper
It is the same intuitive impulse of the imagination
Which in itself is perhaps the closest mankind can ever come to a sense of the divine
The interesting part in all this is attempting to reconcile those two impulses
The impulse to impersonate and the impulse to invent
It seems as though being an artist involves maintaining that equilibrium
In a way that isn't a detriment to you or your craft
The caravans of childhood are gone
But August sunlight scorches the lawn
Dharma bluebells blossom in me
Orgastic green vibrates from the trees
City in mind and city in breath
A million pixels manifest death
Champagne sipped from four paper cups
Benzaiten is soon to wake up
Wear me down, baby
Wear me down
Fire escapes and dreams of Hades
Wear me down
Wear me down
Wear me down, baby
Wear me down
Fire escapes and dreams of Hades
Wear me down
Wear me down
Credits
Writer(s): Naomi Ruth Hamilton
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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