Ghosts on Second Avenue

There I am, on a stool at the Kinsale

Drinking High Life and watching the Mets

In my head I remembered being young and happy but seeing myself there now

I look as sad and bored and alone and lost as today

I see myself duck out for a smoke

At Tin Lizzy’s

I can’t remember what smoking feels like

But I still know the feeling of hoping that girl from Jersey wants to come home with me

There I am, trudging up 96th street in the snow

“No hills in New York City”, my dad always says

But there are

Hills and hills and hills and hills

The Kinsale is closed now

Patty Obrien’s shut down down

Those girls from that night are gone now, might as well have never existed

And dont remember the bit player I was in that season of their lives

I want to tell him to remember everything because everything you forget is dead and gone forever

But you can’t talk to yesterday, just watch through the window and see yourself walk by

And there I am always, waiting for tomorrow to be better

Just another ghost on Second Avenue

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