Prose Remix. Ryan Adams, “New York, New York.”

“New York, New York.”

Well, I shuffled through the City on the 4th of July.  Had a firecracker waitin’ to blow.  Breakin’ like a rocker who was makin’ his way to the cities of Mexico.  Lived in an apartment out on Avenue A; had a tarhut on the corner of 10th.  Had myself a lover who was finer than gold.  But I been broke and I been busted up since.

Love don’t play any games with me anymore like she did before.  World won’t wait, so I better shake that thing right out there through the door.  Hell, I still love you, New York.

Found myself a picture that would fit in the folds of my wallet, and it stayed pretty good.  Still amazed I didn’t lose it on the roof of the place, when I was drunk and I was thinkin’ of you.  Ev’ryday the children, they were singin’ the tunes out on the streets, and you could hear from inside.  Used to take the subway out to Houston and 3rd, I would wait for you (and I’d try to hide).

Love won’t play any games with you, anymore, if you don’t want ‘im to.  World won’t wait.  I watched you shake.  But honey, I don’t blame you.  Hell, I still love you, New York.

Hell, I still love you, New York.

New York.

I remember Christmas in the blistering cold, in a church on the Upper West Side.  Babe, I stood there singin’–I was holdin’ your arm–you were holdin’ my trust like a child.  Found a lot of trouble out on Avenue B, but I tried to keep the overhead low.  Farewell to the city and the love of my life (‘least we left before we had to go).

Love won’t play any games with you, anymore, if you don’t want ‘im to.  So we better shake this old thing out the door.  I’ll always be thinkin’ of you.  I’ll always love you, though, New York.

I’ll always love you, though, New York.

I’ll always love you, though, New York.

I’ll always love you, though, New York.

New York, New York.

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