The last lookOf the scraggly treesScraping their black fingernailsAcross the wistful shinglesOf the buildings

The last breath of moonlight,Whispering on the curtainsShall forever slumberIn my irisThe last smell of sheer power,Radiating off the skyscrapersAnd the smell of the cigarette from the man with theRusty barbed wire hairWho sleeps on the doorsteps of Broadway

The last blink of the artificial light of the streetlamps flickeringOn and offLike a dying fireflyMoonlight under waterLike the old man who has many ideasBut is not brave enough to present them

Oh New York, you will forever be caughtIn the tangled thicketOf past importance