These grey skies are home to me.
The cityscape has become something I long to see.
Driving home from the west side can you feel the bitter pride?
It can't be washed away so easily
The lines breathe life where you couldn't see:
Right in front of your eyes.
We had this city to ourselves.
Standing on high-bars, with the Genesee under our feet.
I'm home, in the flower city.
You have my heart. You have our hearts.