Chapter One: Manhattan.
I see a bridge in black and white
A voice saying something about New York
This doesn’t interest me anymore.
There’s a black woman
I know her name but I won’t tell you
She’s my last connection to a world full of rudeness,
at least that’s how she remembers it.
A world of shoes I didn’t like,
full of good people too afraid to be bad.
This world wasn’t made for you my friend.
You’ll never live up to the expectations
you are decent and that’s your sin.
She came in and out of that world wanting a piece of it,
She finally got it.
She’s dead now but still breathing.
The guru says, stop thinking.
But it won’t stop.
Get out of your head, is the master’s advice
But I’ve got no place else to go.
It’s the curse of the outsider,
you get to witness but you don’t get to join.
There’s something broken inside my chest.
It hurts when its unjust.
I see a man with a hat and dying skin,
with a scarf and this space for rent.
A poet and his friend plays the violin.
Two girls, they look-alike.
They love him and his friend owes me.
Organizing thoughts is no easy task.
Playing for no reward would be nice,
but I already see the room and the microphone and the tongues sliding across my neck.
Someone is bound to pity
the pretty boy who could not understand.