Sometimes I dream of packing up and moving to New York City,
to get lost in the hustle and bustle and see street art.
To play in the concrete jungle with the animals.
To stand in the city that never sleeps
silently,it’s too loud to even make a peep.
To be insignificant
But I can’t.
I’m afraid of what they may say.
Kinda like when you stay in the closet and won’t admit you’re gay,
For fear of repercussion
you never have the discussion.
You live a phoney life with your beard, excuse me, your wife
You have a nice house 2.1 kids and a dog, but still your head remains in a fog…
So anyway, back to me
So I sit and live a life where I constantly feel like I have already died inside,
If I don’t see New York soon I may cry,
Some wonder why,
Why can’t you just work pay your bills and die?
Because that’s not what I was made for!
So this score,
I must settle between what my mind says and what is happening in front of my eyes.
I’ve packed my bags and I am never looking back.
If you didn’t care when I was here you shouldn’t care when I am gone.
I’m leaving for New York tomorrow,
Like they say by the time you read this I’ll be gone.
What will they say? Who cares.