You walked with me under the blue
Under the bridge.
The late Manhattan melancholy pulled
at you like a music box from your childhood.
And you let it, oh you let it.
Because you followed me under the blue,
Under the rain.
Its getting late and the birds have come to roost
once again.
It wont subside.
Not your pain,
not again.
I know this because I followed you home,
from the train, into the late
of the Manhattan Rain.
