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Tuesday & Wednesday
The sun sets and rises with you everyday
Your beauty is burnt into my memory bank
The bank that gets robbed but you are in the safe
Locked in forever

On 8th avenue way, all the men check me out
Look me up and down
Check out my package and cute face
I can get any one of them

Where are the women that ache my heart?
Where do they hide?
When do they want to 'pick me up?'
Which avenue do they walk on?

Washington Square park is filled with participants
Useful ones that could have confronted camera artists
And celebrity stars I find on thirty four television stations
Including my nude self in central park

Hey, you, yes you -
Pretty one...
If I tell you to meet me in the park
Where the marble arch is
High noon on my grandmothers sabbath
Would you meet me there?

My heart is knotted
Tied and bolted
To platters passed around from blonde to brunette to red to black
From blue eyes to brown eyes to green eyes
   and the grey mystery of my own

I'm coming to New York City
I was born here, there
Post office waitees
I'm just a believer with bad credit

Certainy is now still in the concept of a book
That I will never read
So I guess I donąt know the rules
Maybe youll teach, maybe you wont
Maybe I'll just die in a rocking chair

Its time to go
Thirst to produce has engulfed my mind
I'll be inspired by you
Because until I meet you
I wont be disappointed
Or shot down
Or in an orgasm of truth of my own disbelief

© 1999 David Greg Harth @ 296 NYC @ 296 NYC