Little girl run where you aren't alive
So long believing your face will be long under me
But New York is where you're not quite done
Waiting for postcards and being enough
Sit in the windows and waiting to be
Looking for letters appear on a screen
New York is for postcards, they're distant and not quite enough
A moment of someone that never could quite fill you up
And you live for the minutes of feeling in love
You live for the past that you've known
You wander in the marketplace, waiting and
Live for the minutes of feeling in love
An addict that crawls in the dark
To wander in the atmosphere and stare in the park
To always spend life so wistful, straining towards the mast
Lock your eyes in silhouettes of meaning in the past
I'd like to love to jettison the giants and the statues
They're so atrocious-beautiful until you can't quite move
And I spent two years being never quite there
With my head in the sand and my notes flying fair
Always restricting my hands in the air