Text: Gregory Alan Isakov. Fire Escape.

New York now was nothing but an ice-capade
a cigarette, a fire-escape

and we 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