| Jeff Buckley’s Grace was playing loud as hell
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| In a back of an old dive bar
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| So I step outside and light a cigarette
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| Taking the fumes of the passing cars
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| Loud angry drunks and a few crest punks
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| Fill every crevasse of Saint Mark’s
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| Some things have changed since back then
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| But the streets are still so hard
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| In the lonely hours of midnight
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| When New York city’s lying wide awake
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| Under the glow of street light
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| I feel the rumble of the concrete mix
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| On my head, lookout down
|
| Ride through the Harlem to the interstate
|
| And my soul reunite
|
| In the lonely hours of midnight
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| Two lovers falling in each other’s arms
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| Stumbling now on the high line
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| Upon the bridge there’s a broken heart
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| Screaming to his valentine
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| Two sunken eyes at the corner shop
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| Try’na get a lucky for a dime
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| The needle drops and the line it turns
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| And then it burns one right
|
| In the lonely hours of midnight
|
| When New York city’s lying wide awake
|
| Under the glow of street light
|
| I feel the rumble of the concrete mix
|
| On my head, lookout down
|
| Ride through the Harlem to the interstate
|
| And my soul reunite
|
| In the lonely hours of midnight
|
| Calling out for something
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| Calling out for something true
|
| In the lonely hours of midnight
|
| When New York city’s lying wide awake
|
| Under the glow of street light
|
| I feel the rumble of the concrete mix
|
| In the lonely hours of midnight
|
| When New York city’s lying wide awake
|
| Under the glow of street light
|
| I feel the rumble of the concrete mix
|
| On my head, lookout down
|
| Ride through the Harlem to the interstate
|
| And my soul reunite
|
| In the lonely hours of midnight
|
| In the lonely hours of midnight
|
| In the lonely hours of midnight |