Back in a city not my own, I fall into old habits and wander. Every city in this country feels familiar. 4 AM on Market and the streets are quiet now. Just the beggars and the bums, the overworked and underpaid, hookers, hustlers, and the men who roam the city— my brothers. Sleepless men with no purpose. In a past life, I was a conquistador. Today, adventure is a cloud wrapped in tin foil.
Another summer night
of Brooklyn sweat and Manhattan sky
We gather together like moths to the moon
On rooftops and sidewalks
Dance floors and dive bars
No need to tell us this is our golden age.
Careless caress, liquor and lines
Help us forget our bank accounts
Together we are shining and golden and free.
Until the sun rises to a brand new day
We glow like dew drops in the morning mist.
The Great Electrifier.
Live if you really want to.
Mr. Sun.
