Eight Million Drunken Prophets

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 * co-written with James Burling *

When Clinton Street was silent and Chinatown was dead
And all across the city was a song in every head
From Brooklyn to the Bowery on every street in Queens
Eight million drunken prophets in their ripped up faded jeans

Like a beacon at the ocean or a penny on the tracks
A soft reflection of the skyline shining faintly through the cracks
On a perfect Sunday morning we were dancing on a train
Diving deep below Delancey just to sing it out again

And everything is music, everything is light
Everything is rising like driftwood on the tide
When I just surrender and sink down to my knees
Everything is music a distant melody

There were diamonds in the sidewalk and the morning on our side
And everyone was chasing the sparkle in their eyes
Before we smell the flowers they’re sleeping underground
Where the city hides its secrets and they blossom with the sound

And everything is music, everything is light
Everything is rising like driftwood on the tide
When I just surrender and sink down to my knees
Everything is music a distant melody

Like a pair of wilted lilies two hearts beat S.O.S.
The sun pours through the curtains as she is getting dressed
Something so familiar in the perfume of her kiss
On the edge of singing the same song with a twist

 - September 2018 -