Stop a yellow bullet with your bare hand.
Fire it again, and ride it through this land.
Journey up the hill, natives call the Mount.
Pass the obelisk and the sparkling fount.
Near the hub, where the weary will arrive,
the minutes left for you are under five.
Turn to face the way of pale, fading light.
Find Park and see how tender is the night.
It’s eight o’clock–
An early start.
I have far to walk.
I’ll find a place to eat–
A favorite diner.
It’s on 34th Street.
I see it on my right–
A neon sign.
The chrome is bright.
People wait around the door–
A hungry crowd.
I’ll have to wait a little more.
Soon I have my little space–
A cozy booth.
It’s a perfect place.
The server brings my plate–
A hearty dish.
It was worth the wait.
Now, I’m ready for that long walk–
A tour of the city.
It’s nine o’clock.
A swing is a funny thing.
A sense of freedom, while you hold fast to chains,
A touch of the sky, and a brush with the ground,
A powerful beginning and a dwindling end,
Leaving you wanting to do it again!