(sextet)

by John Altieri

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lyrics

Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain,
His suit smells
His bald head has a spot
His back aches from his cot
and his teeth rot

Your yellow brick road is an illusion
Your poppy-flowered field is waiting for you
Lie down lie to yourself till tomorrow
Your horse might change color
but your shoes won't

New York City looks pretty by day
but by night pretty folds away
like a love letter lost in the mail
you let her go so that you can set sail
and search all the alleyways and avenues
your running shoes would find the clues
hidden there within your booze
you thought you'd never lose
but you lost and it cost a pretty price

New York City ain't no palm tree paradise
with precise ways of life or concise little answers
to behold like private dancers
Instead the streets are bitter cold,
the myths have all been told
and there ain't no damn gold at the end of the rainbow,
pain though, you'll find like a stain on the mind
so insane you're going crazy cause you're still like trying to find
parts of you that you've left behind parts that matter,
pitter patter goes your heart resigned
that there is no love, true love, in love, all of the above.