I stood straight, it looked like New York
In a film still formed in the eye of a child
I stood straight, with the heat in my hands
Wearing white on my shoulders and thread on my fingers
I stood straight, not listening as the boy I once was
The city shouting whispers at me
I stood straight, my collar turned up and facing the cold
I chose not to be much of anything once
I stood straight, as I got lost wading my feet through the grey
I think I'll leave soon, but first I have to stay.
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