I used to live in new york city

Every thing there was dark and dirty

Outside my window was a steeple

With a clock that always said 12: 30

Young girls are coming to the canyon

And in the morning I can see them walking

I can no longer keep my blinds drawn

And I cant keep myself from talking

At first so strange to feel so friendly

To say good morning and really mean it

To feel these changes happening in me

But not to notice till I feel it

Cloudy waters cast no reflection

Images of beauty lie there stagnant

Vibrations bounce in no direction

And lie there shattered into fragment

Young girls are coming to the canyon

And in the morning I can see them walking

I can no longer keep my blinds drawn

And I cant keep myself from talking

Talking

Talking