Ran the length of Manhattan, couldn't get far enough.
Staring at the Hudson, still not feeling tough.
I was ready to run, guess I jumped the gun to
run around in circles--that ain't no riddle, nor no pun.
Watching water lap, wishing for some past
to latch onto something--a log, a rope, a raft.
Even when I run things go so slow
where everything I have gets pulled down by undertow.

A false start or not even.
That had me for a beginning.

Circles should shift and bend,
but this is a line with an end.

Can't look at SoHo without getting down
all the while mustering my best upsidown frown.
Seems what I need is an East Avenue touch
but chosen solitude don't hurt me much.
Can't tolerate being compensated--
Look at me--22!--and already I'm jaded.
If it's good to see me then why you be borough-leaving?
Sad part is, part of me is still believing.

A false start or not even.
That had me for a beginning.
That had me for a beginning.

Circles? Please shift, please bend,
please don't let this line have an end.
Bust pass the bus, ain't stop for breath
cuz every side street is where your memory is kept.
One of these days, the Hudson'll have its day and
overflow onto concrete--Manhattan's a Paradise Bay!
But until I swim over Chelsea I must run
until my thoughts of you are baked and cooked and done.
When that river finally floods,
I'll rest these legs of mine and say--babe, you done good.

A false start or not even.
That had me for a beginning.
That had me for a beginning.
That had me for a beginning.