I grab a bottle and I pull the cork I take a sip and it begins its work I drink in memory of the spirit of New York Did you notice that it's even gone? The river turns and the lights are on But deep within the heart, spirit's drifted apart How can I say this and then not expect to change my point of view? How can I say this and then not expect to change my point of view? They'll bury me with a bottle filled with bee's tea and the windowsill Will the hold the candles of my last burning love Genuine heroes in the grip of death will show you how to better use your breath I met one in the fall, he was a man after all How can I say this and then not expect to change my point of view? How can I say this and then not expect to change my point of view? How can I say this and then not expect to change my point of view?