Unknown
engines underneath the city
Steam pushing up in billows
through the grates
Frankie Lymon's tracking "Seab
reeze" in a studio in Harlem
Just a pair of tunes to
hammer out
Everybody's off the clock by 10
The loneliest people in the whole wide world are the ones
you're never going to see again
Feels so free when I hit the avenue
Nothing like a New York summer night
Every dream's a good dream
Even awful dreams are good dreams
If you're doing it right
Remember soaring higher than a cloud
Get pretty sentimental
now and then
The loneliest people in the whole wide world are the ones
you're never going to see again
And four hours north of Portland,
a radio flips on
And some no one from the future
remembers that you're gone
Armies massing in the dusky distance
Ghosted in the ribbon microphone
Leave a little mark on something,
maybe
Take the secret circuit home
Nothing in the shadows but
the shadow hands
Reaching out to sad, young,
frightened men
The loneliest people in the whole wide word are the
ones you're never going to see again
Yeah, the loneliest people in the whole wide word are
the ones you're never going to see again