The morning is bright
As “Rapper’s Delight”
Floats up to my room
From the street

And who would disturb
A slumbering world
With this late seventies beat?
I’m taking my aim
From this window pane
And I’m turning the gun on myself

The Upper West Side
Is supposed to be quiet
It’s supposed to be wealthy and dull
So how to explain
This thundering pain
That’s pushing its way through my skull

I’m taking a leave
Of my senses, you see
And I’m turning the gun on myself

New York is loud
It’s wonderfully loud
I wouldn’t live anywhere else
But I need my rest
To be at my best
Away from the high decibels

I’m losing my will
I’m shooting to kill
And I’m turning the gun on myself
I’m losing my will
And I’m shooting to kill
And I’m turning the gun on myself

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