I live by the Hudson River,
And a lot of boats go by.
They glide by so quickly,
Camouflaged against the Jersey Shore.
Sometimes at night when the liners are lit up,
It's hard to tell which is moving,
the boat, or the shoreline.
And it seems like all of Manhattan is comin' anchored,
And slowly drifting out to sea.
I spent, hours trying to film them,
So I set up a camera by the window.
And every time I hear a horn,
I ran to the window.
But I usually miss them.
It's kind of rhythem,
I kind of thinking it's been getting into the song I've been writing lately.
Like walking upstairs in the dark,
You think there's one more step than there actually is.
And you foot comes pounding down,
Is nothing underneath.
Or like the piano we got a few months ago,
Only a few keys work.
So we put it out in the hall near the door.
When people come in,
they break their hands acorss the keyboard,
playing a few notes that still work.
It's kind of a doorbell now.
All the sounds around were so distracting,
I was trying to concentrated
on a song for performance.
But I couldn't.
And my mother called and said,
"Why not come out here and write your song? “
It's real quiet, I just put on new carpets down."
(Anybody home? )（
When I got there, I noticed that
The new carpets were so thick that
None of the doors closed.
The only door that still worked was the door to parent's room.
It was a swing door,
Every time someone opened it,
It thwack into the parrot's cage,
And the parrot screamed.
Each time this happened totally surprised dozens of times a day.
And the shirek filled the whole house,
Through all the half-opened doors.
And this is the song,
I finally wrote.