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The Insect Trust
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The Eyes of a New York Woman
Are the twilit side of the moon
Nobody knows what goes on back there
Where it's always late afternoon.
Under the lights of Broadway,
And far from the lights of home,
With a smile just as sweet as a candy cane
And a heart all plated with chrome.
Do they ever see the wandering bums
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And the boys with no place to go,
All the drifter yeah he cried for an ugly
He left her in Buffalo
Dead as the leaves in Union Square,
And dead as the graveyard sea,
Will never cry for me
They'll never cry for me
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