Caught between the moon and New York City.

We all belong to everything.

Ain’t there a pen that will write before they die?

All my favorite places, my city had been pulled down.

I can develop my brooding potential.

Both of us searching for some perfect world we know we’ll never find.

Well, sometimes I love you on a Saturday night. Sunday morning, you don’t look right.

Tried to see your point of view, hope your dreams will all come true.

I’m not the kinda girl who gives up just like that, oh no.

And you don’t stop, you keep on eatin’ cars.