New York Suite Lyrics

In Manhattan.

Professor Edwardo Alvared is ancient, white haired and hunched over an electric piano, playing in the underground at Times Square. He's playing for dancing dolls and babies in carriages and people searching for their Saturday night fever. His cafe au lait eyes brim with kindness and pin me to the wall. Suddenly my soul stretches all the way up the stairs and out in to the teeming night, beyond the neon, way up into the Milky Way, where the babies are waiting to be born. Chased by Cuban drummers and black boys dancing, black boys prancing, romancing their lovers. Kissing on corners, kissing in diners, kissing at fountains and a lone trumpet plays..........da do dwee do dee da dwee ooohh
da do dwee do dee da dwee ooohhh.

In Manhattan
you can say hello
to the man in the moon.
He is smiling,
buying a line
from a girl with a silver spoon .
In Manhattan,
anything you want can be brought to your door.
If you’ve got the money in your pocket.

In Manhattan
there’s a naked cowboy
playing guitar.
When it’s snowing,
he struts around
like a goddam movie star.
In Manhattan,
every second face
comes from a foreign shore,
with schemes and dreams
of money in their pockets.

When you’re tired of walking,
there’s a bar on Bleeker Street
to blow the blues away.

Ginetta’s there,
tossing her hair,
bossing her boys,
flashing a smile
and playing like
Miles on a good day.
She dresses the drunks down,
says, “put some money in the bucket.
God will bless you,
I will bless you.
Do you think I do this for free?”
She blows that golden trumpet,
sings up a storm.
You can stand in awe
to see a hip chick
from a hick hood,
way deep in Brooklyn
hook you in,
and make it seem
like she’s played your soul
clean.

In Manhattan,
see the double D boys
do their routine.
Call that dancing?
Man alive,
it’s a wicked, break neck scene.
In Manhattan,
every little coin
gets you wanting more
of jingle-jangle,
money in your pocket.

When your soul needs comfort,
you can join
a gospel choir,
and sing

Jesus, sweet Jesus!
Shine your light on me!
I am lost, I am broken hearted,
and I just want to set my soul free.

How can anyone say
they could ever be lonely?
Your one and only
could be the next in line
at that show
in Manhattan.
Manhattan.

And I am intoxicated by the beat
and the heat of the heart
that is Manhattan.
Manhattan,
Manhattan,
Manhattan.

I’m gonna slice it, dice it and cinnamon spice it
and bake it in a pie.
My, my, my,
so juicy.
Manhattan.
Manhattan.

Boat on the Hudson.

Watching a boat on the Hudson
pulling away from the quay.
All my precious dreams
are sailing out to sea.

Hearing a boat on the Hudson
emitting a low, mournful cry.
Fingernail of moon
is holding up the sky.

I want to know
is Liberty listening,
Or has she tears of her own?
There are ghosts still in the harbour
that are pale and thin,
restlessly hovering
around her island throne.

I want to know is Liberty listening?
She must have tears of her own.
There are spirits in the water
and they won’t lie down.
Clamouring here and now
around her feet of stone.

There is a boat on the Hudson
hooking a line on my skin.
The city’s dripping lights
as the fog comes rolling in.

Chinatown.

There’s a pretty little girl
sitting on a step in Chinatown,
playing with a cat,
smiling shyly up at me.
Her momma’s standing by,
selling fish to fry in Chinatown.
Offering a deal,
an extra with the meal for free.

My heart beats rhythm
and I wanna dance
this oriental romance.

All of Chinatown’s my lover,
Mother, father, sister, brother there.
Shades of colour to astound me,
treasures high and low abound to share.

There’s a busy old man
working with his hands in Chinatown.
Squatting on the sidewalk
servicing the passers by.
Hammering the soles
for keeping out the cold in Chinatown.
Fixing up the shoes
with glue that’s gonna get me high.

His eyes are smiling
that special glance.
My oriental romance.

All of Chinatown’s my lover,
Mother, father, sister, brother there.
Shades of colour to astound me,
treasures high and low abound to share.

Under an arch
dragons are watching,
and out on the street
banners of silk
flutter softly in night breezes,
all lit by the glow
of paper lanterns
that shine in Chinatown.
Chinatown, Chinatown.

There’s a bustle in the street,
a hustle that you meet in Chinatown.
A boldness and a brashness
banging on the break of day.
A fragrance in the air,
a headiness to bear in Chinatown.
Incense being lit,
making someone fit to pray.

It wraps my senses
up in a trance.
My oriental romance.

All of Chinatown's my lover,
Mother, father, sister, brother there.
Shades of colour to astound me,
treasures high and low abound to share

High on a ledge
Buddha is beaming.
Transcending it all,
holding his porcelain belly and shaking with mirth,
witnessing life
in all its glory,
here in Chinatown,
Chinatown, Chinatown.

All the little babies wrapped
in padded satin dressing gowns
in Chinatown.

All the little babies wrapped in padded satin,
in Chinatown.

Hell's Kitchen.

Step on the cracks
and you’ll go through to China.
Careful girl of what you do not know.
Look at the facts.

You’re working in a diner,
waitressing for tips and when it’s slow
you’re out the back,
practicing a tambourine.
Cause you’re cooking up a gypsy band
in Hell’s Kitchen.

Dancing alone
wearing next to nothing.
Careful girl of where you aim that smile.
Working the moves
to get to forty second.
At this rate it’s gonna take a while.
A shake and a roll and ribbons on a tambourine.
Cause you’re cooking up a gypsy band
in Hell's Kitchen.
Hell's Kitchen.

Tell me what you’re gonna do
when your beauty fades?
How you’re gonna
stop the freezing rain on your parade?

You’re living in a sweet little fantasy,
a star, well, a wanna-be.
A Broadway Baby.
Maybe in your mind.

You can walk a dog for a pretty penny,
but love, well there won’t be any.
Just thieves and the punks
and the junkies who lie
in the hallways of every dirty street,
in Hell's Kitchen.
Hell's Kitchen.

Tell me what you gonna do
when your beauty fades?
How you gonna stop the freezing rain
on your parade?
You’re living in a sweet little fantasy.
a star, well, a wanna be.
A Broadway Baby.
Maybe in your mind.

You can walk a dog for a pretty penny,
love, well there won’t be any,
just thieves and the punks,
and the junkies who lie
in the hall ways of every dirty street
in Hell's Kitchen.
Hell's Kitchen.

You’re cooking up a gypsy band
In Hell's Kitchen.
You’re cooking up a gypsy band
in Hell's Kitchen.
Cooking up a gypsy band
In Hell's Kitchen.
Cooking up a gypsy band
In Hell's Kitchen.

Ellis Island.

Over the sea to freedom
the Catonia sailed.
How could we bear to leave them,
the innocent and the frail?
Some of us just got lucky,
buying an ocean cruise.
Now here we stand
with bags in our hands
and Europe on our shoes.

The sun comes up,
greeting us on Ellis Island.
Our backs are straight,
turning from the path we trod.
A new day dawns,
warming us on Ellis Island.
We take a breath,
resting in the palm of God.

How can I feel so hollow
with country men all around?
This little ship of sorrow
soon will have come to ground.
Everyone has their secrets
tucked in a private place.
A blanketed sky
hid our goodbye,
our precious last embrace.

The sun comes up,
greeting us on Ellis Island.
Our backs are straight,
turning from the path we trod.
A new day dawns,
warming us on Ellis Island.
We take a breath,
resting in the palm of God.

Well, does he hear us?
I swear I no longer know.
Cause evil has been too near us,
and we’re so far from our home.

The ghost of my sister is whispering.
She’s saying, “Look Lydia, America. It’s beautiful.”

The sun comes up,
greeting us on Ellis Island.
Our backs are straight,
turning from the path we trod.
A new day dawns,
warming us on Ellis Island.
We take a breath,
resting in the palm of God.

Courage Mon Amie.

Julian
busks for a living on the F line,
underground at Second Avenue,
where the rats are prolific
and the cops are few.

His filthy hands
coaxing magic from a Casio,
balanced on a milk crate way too low,
how the notes keep tumbling out
I just don’t know.

I’ve been caught out in the rain.
Shaking from the cold
and in need of some comfort.
He says,

“Courage mon amie,
courage mon amie,
courage mon amie,
take heart.”

Julian
reads science fiction in his down time,
in the park at Second Avenue,
where the drunks beg for money
from the well-to-do.

He blows the steam
from a cup of coffee that is burning,
counts the change that he’s been earning,
how he ever manages
I just don’t know.

I’m exhausted from the stairs
and watching all my dreams
melt like snow on the sidewalk.
He says,

“Courage mon amie,
courage mon amie,
courage mon amie,
take heart.

Cause life can bowl you over
you need your pied a terre.
If you believe in angels
you’ll see them everywhere.”
He’s just another homeless man
doing the best he can to get by.

Julian
looks at life as a philosopher.
In his mind he is a traveler,
visiting the continents
that he prefers.

But Gotham’s got him
in its crazy clutches and he stays here,
any will to make a move disappears,
life on Second Avenue’s
a big frontier.

When I did not have a prayer,
Julian just
steadied my heart with his kindness.
He said,

“Courage mon amie,
courage mon amie,
courage mon amie,
take heart.

Cause life can bowl you over,
you need your feet here on the ground.
If you believe in magic
there’s magic to be found.
I am just another homeless man
but in my mind I understand
this is true.

You have to have a big heart.
Ayez une grand coeur,
like the lion in the Wizard Of Oz,
like the Tin Man,
yeah, buddy, get yourself a heart.

Cause you’re on the Yellow Brick Road.
Sister, we’re all on the Yellow Brick Road,
and life, this crazy life,
man, you gotta love this life

I say it in French,
for the Lady of Liberty.
Ayez une grande coeur.
Have a big heart.
Courage, courage my friend.

Courage mon amie,
courage mon amie,
courage mon amie,
take heart.

You have to have a great big heart,
have a great big heart,
open up your great big heart,
and let life in.

You have to have a great big heart,
have a great big heart,
open up your great big heart
and let life in.

Courage mon amie,
courage mon amie,
courage mon amie.
take heart.

Take heart.
Take heart.
Take heart.
Take heart.

The Little Church That Stood.

Here within my walls
the pain can cease.
You will feel a love,
giving you strength,
bringing you peace.
You can still your aching heart
and rest assured your grief is understood.
Feel the sacred grace
of a place that is known
as the little church that stood.

Stay here for a while
under my eaves.
Breathe the sweeter air
and feel the calm amongst the trees.
You can gather up your dreams
and tend them with your love
as well you should.
Come prepare your heart
in a place that is known
as the little church that stood.

There was a tree outside my door.
A proud and ancient sycamore.
He spread his boughs against the foe
as he bore that fatal blow.

Oh, you can cry those bitter tears
til they're no more.
There will come a day
your precious trust will be restored.
You will hear the children sing
reminding you to still believe in good
and forever more this will be known
as the little church that stood.
Rest in the little church.
Teach your children how
this came to be known
as the little church that stood.

Avenue P.

A plump Russian immigrant,
fingers like kransky,
ushers me in,
bids me, “take off your coat, child,
come out of the rain”.

Like a storm that is imminent,
wearing his angst, he
curbs his impatience,
wipes his hands on rag,
and asks me my name.

And we stand in a land of pianos.
All kinds of lovers
awaiting that special caress.

Near the end of the line
on Avenue P for piano,
there's a place that I know
poets and dreamers belong.
And there are no trees
on Avenue P for piano.
It's a a wasteland of sorts,
but dreams can be bought for a song.

I can't play Rachmaninoff.
I won't need a Steinway.
Something more humble,
for writing a song on,
for that kind of art.

I don't like candlesticks,
or fancy carvings.
I don't care for history.
It's not for display,
it's for soothing my heart.

So we sail
the sea of pianos.
Slumbering old Cinderellas
awaiting their kiss.

Near the end of the line
at Avenue P for piano,
there's a place that I know
lovers and dreamers belong.
And there are no trees
on Avenue P for piano.
It's a waste land of sorts,
but dreams can be bought for a song.

I play for the man
on a battered grand, black piano.
A crumbling old Bosendorfer,
must have been great in its prime.
He tells me studied the violin in St Petersburg
and he's never heard
somebody sing like an angel.
He tells me I sing like an angel.

Near the end of the line
on Avenue P for piano,
there's a place that I know
lovers and dreamers belong.
And there are no trees
on Avenue P for piano.
It's a waste land of sorts,
but dreams can be bought for a song.
la la la la la la.

Somebody’s Daughter.

Out of her head
a slip of a girl starts to climb
steadily upwards,
as Manhattan twinkles a smile.
Somebody’s daughter
has broken her heart.
Somebody’s daughter
wants a new start.

Birds hover round her,
a chill as the dusk closes in.
They perch on the girders
and wait for the show to begin.
Somebody’s daughter
has cried all her tears.
Somebody’s daughter
is ending her years.

Brooklyn's Bridge's arms want to hold her safe,
but she's rejecting it's steel embrace.
She throws all caution away.
Ring a ring a rosie,
a pocket full of posie,
a tissue, a tissue,
we all fall down.
All fall down,
all fall down.

Light as a feather
this baby drops from the nest.
Leaving a bruise on the sky,
a soul repossessed.
Somebody’s daughter
has chosen today.
Somebody’s daughter
is floating away.

Love your daughters.
Be careful with your daughters.
Love your daughters.

Lady of Liberty.

“Give to me your tired, your poor,
your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
the wretched refuse of your teaming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me.
I lift my lamp beside the golden door.” Emma Lazarus, The New Colossus.

Lady of Liberty,
bright eternal flame in your hand.
Lady of Liberty,
keeping a vigil
over the promised land.

There you stand,
proud in your glory,
gracefully gazing across the sea.
And with the sun on your face,
blessing the whole human race,
you gently remind us
to live in harmony.

Lady of Liberty,
the bright eternal flame in your hand.
Oh we love the
Lady of Liberty,
holding a beacon
up to the promised land.

You were born
Mother of exiles,
promising weary and homeless hearts
that they could rest in your arms.
You would protect them from harm
and gently remind them
to live in harmony.

Lady of Liberty,
bright eternal flame in your hand.
Oh we love the Lady of Liberty,
keeping a vigil
over the promised land.

Were you sleeping,
dreaming of a sweeter, sister shore?
Another duty keeping?
You had turned your back so pretty,
didn’t see the burning city.

Lady of Liberty,
bright eternal flame in your hand.
Oh we love the Lady, Lady of Liberty.
Keeping a vigil over the promised,
holding a beacon up to the promised,
keeping a vigil over the promised land.

Skate With Me.

Skate with me
I want someone to guide me.
Hold my hand
so I won’t fall on the ground.
Everybody’s happy
at the Rockefeller Center.
After all it’s Christmas
and the snow is gently coming down.

Skate with me,
let’s pretend we’re lovers.
Stranger things have happened
under the moon.
Everybody’s happy
at the Rockefeller Center.
After all it’s Christmas
and the coloured lights spell fairyland.

Filigree angels are guarding the tree,
blowing their trumpets in sweet harmony.
And there’s Prometheus,
banished by Zuess
for stealing god’s fire
and letting it loose
amongst mortals.
He gifted us knowledge and art
and drugs to make potions for healing the heart.
And he gave us the alphabet
and we made words.
But I’m talking too much,
you must think I’m absurd.
It’s something I do when I’m nervous
and I don’t know why.

Skate with me,
we’ll be free as children.
Santa Clause is coming
into town.
Everybody’s happy
at the Rockefeller Center.
After all it’s Christmas
and my heart is open wide.
Look at that kid,
he can hardly stand up.
Torn yellow coat,
like a bent buttercup.
This art deco playground
is framing your smile.
Before I embarrass you
let’s sit a while,
cause I’m drunk as a skunk,
and I don’t even drink.
Must be the desert,
it was loaded .
I think I’d be
over the limit,
sozzled on cake.
A pathetic excuse
for a sailor I’d make.
All I want now
is permission to fall in your arms.

Skate with me,
your pride is all you’re risking.
Flags from round the world
are kissing the sky.
Everybody’s happy
at the Rockefeller Center.
After all it’s Christmas,
when a stranger’s not so dangerous.

Love Fish.

With a steady hand
I paint a mouth that’s lush to match my eyes.
Coloring a landscape,
drawing on a curve to match my sighs.
I am holding onto your voice on the wire.
You coax and cajole and you speak my desire,

And you call me your love fish,
swimming in your heart streams.
Shiny little love fish,
reflecting all your love beams.

There’s a peregrine falcon
stranded on the upper side of town.
Rescue is requested,
eighty-seven floors to get it down.
I am sending my own SOS down the wire.
This city of neon must know I’m on fire.

And you call me your love fish,
swimming in your heart streams.
Shiny little love fish,
reflecting all you love dreams.
I wanna say,
you are the man in Manhattan,
you are my island of joy.
You are the man in Manhattan,
you are my marvelous boy.

Love fish,
swimming in your heart streams.
Love fish,
reflecting all your love beams.

Central Park is melting,
Spring is coming early into bloom.
Jonquils push their heads up,
intoxicating all with their perfume.
I am sending my own sweet bouquet
down the wire.
Dialing your number cause I
never tire

of hearing I’m your love fish,
swimming in your heart streams.
Shiny little love fish,
reflecting all your love beams.

And I wanna say,
you are the man in Manhattan,
you are my island of joy.
You are the man in Manhattan,
you are my marvelous boy

And I’m your love fish,
swimming in your heart streams.
Shiny little love fish,
reflecting all your love beams.

The City Sleeps.

Snow is falling on Bryant Park,
gusts of powder flurry.
It doesn't know quite where to land
and swirls in nervous worry.
Dreamy pools of yellow lamp light
are showing up the tear that's on my sleeve.

The library, like an ancient beast,
huddles on its corner.
Fortitude and Patience,
lions that guard its border,
survey their stretch of real estate
and grant their human subjects a reprieve.

The city sleeps,
it slows its breath,
restores some hope,
one little step.
The city sleeps,
wrapped in its dreams,
hovering on the edge
of in-between.
The city sleeps,
at least for now,
slumbering under quilts of reassurance
that the world seems safe and sound.

Three a.m. the plough machine
sweeping all before it.
Scraping Gotham's arteries
dangerous to ignore it.
Steam pipes opening candy mouths
belch their mother-load into the street.

Mannequins in window scenes
are draped in winter glory.
Hollow chests and empty eyes
advertize their story.
This ragged coat's seen better days
and slush is seeping through to my aching feet.

The city sleeps
it slows its breath.
While some are born,
some slip to death.
Another night with dreams to weave,
tumbling in the land of make believe.
The city sleeps,
at least for now,
holding on to some vague and naive notion
that the world is safe and sound.

All the statues in the park
come alive after dark.
Climbing down from podiums,
respite from the tedium
of holding strange and tortured poses,
banked by cultivated roses.
They hold their meetings on the grass
mutiny is brewing fast.

And how am I supposed to sleep?
I pray the lord my soul to keep.
I used to sleep draped in your arms.

I used to sleep.
why can't I sleep?
I used to sleep.
Why can't I sleep?
I used to sleep.

See You In Soho.

See you in Soho,
see you in my dreams.
See you in Soho,
see you in my dreams.

Dawn is kissing the moon goodnight.
Smearing lipstick on the sky
and making the stars take flight.
I've been out counting cobblestones
that are whispering your name.
I never wanted to say goodbye.
It gets stuck in my throat and I start to cry.

See you in Soho,
see you in my dreams.
See you in Soho,
see you in my dreams.

Sail a ship of a thousand fools.
I will be standing at the helm,
reading my book of rules.
Don't you know that it hurt my heart
every time we disagreed?
Wearing my best when we said goodbye.
I was wrapped up in velvet and stupid pride,
as I said,

see you in Soho.
See you in my dreams.
See you in Soho.
See you in my dreams.

Yesterday we were walking in Soho.
She's put on her make-up,
dresses in finery.
Older buildings are boasting a facelift
and I cried for the old timers,
whores and the shoe-shiners gone,
gone.

Didn't you love the end?
On your knees to this drunken sweetheart,
singing alone in the rain,
in the rain.

I'm gonna
see you in Soho,
see you in my dreams.
See you in Soho,
see you in my dreams.

See you in Soho,
see you in my dreams.
See you in Soho,
see you in my dreams.

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