Fire Escape - Gregory Alan Isakov

New York now was nothing but an ice-capade

A cigarette, a fire-escape

Walked this line,

With dust in our pockets for the bedford station line to take us

Crazy

The drunkard playing the casio

We’re quiet

Everytime we start starin up

And hear

All the loneliest crickets play their violins

Aw what a shame

A subway ride was never meant to last.