Dear friend, I know the city,
though it's not my natural home.
I've seen it take the best of us
and let them die alone.
The country boys adore it,
for its freedom and its vice.
Its lights are bitter jewels
anxious to entice.
The streets are filled with wonder,
old traffic and new trade.
And there somehow more gentle souls
try not to be afraid.
They leave behind their fantasies,
as starlight leaves their eyes.
And gain the new expression
of garbage-eating flies.
