You're sitting in front of me
Or is everything losing its color
Quarters, halves, & eighths
I'm in love with this feeling
Would have sounded all wrong
In that crazy pitch of my
Pidgin stammering knotted tongue
I'm used to it, this city
The smell of it, the gray dust of it
I know that's rain coming
I'm used to it, this feeling
The comforting, the reviling
I'm used to it, this city
The comforting, the reviling