Down below Riverside Park,
On the river side of the West Side Highway,
I walked along the bicycle path
The Hudson flows past hugely,
Across the way from New Jersey.

And on the other side of the river,
The New Jersey side, full of ugly,
I saw miserable architecture,
I saw the efforts to make something,
I saw somethings that were nothing.

On a stroll near Gracie Mansion
Along the walkway above the East River,
I stayed optimistic till
The neon sign of hope stuttered out in my heart,
The long-lasting stopped smiling.

Why does one write with such gloom and complain
About the joy of being alive?
About wearing a veil of lovely rain
That sweetens an endless summer lawn,
And the air smells always so fresh?

So right now, when I go to a party,
A thing that I do rarely,
I have a twelve-minute rule.
I show up and people are grateful.
People know I don’t go to parties.

They see me coming in.
I stay twelve minutes and leave,
But without saying goodbye.
They remember I’ve been there, they’re grateful.
And that’s my twelve-minute rule.

Pardon me, her tits are beautifuls,
Tits, her beautifuls,
Side-by-side heated outdoor swimming pools
Steaming away outdoors
In the freezing cold snap of life.

I go for a swim in a mirror.
The mirror opens and drools
Heated swimming pools.
Living a life leaves a trail of slime.
Hurry up, there isn’t time.

Means it’s seventy years ago
Outside the coal yards at Duncan and Vandeventer.
The trucks are waiting to go out
To feed the poor their coal.
The rich have already eaten their fill.

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