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The familiar petrichor, surrounds the atmosphere.
There's a bearded man who sets up his teashop as the fancy cars lie still.
And all the upper class children, sleep cosily in their warm beds.
While the newspaper boy does his rounds, and here comes another long day.
The ragged girl on the sideway holds on to her blanket, as tightly as she can.
Soon the roads will be filled with passengers. pushing and yelling for space.
'Twas a long night for the workers, the subway walls were not made by immortals.
But remember, all these monuments of great men, will one day all go down in waste.
The world seems to be crowded with strangers,
And if you look closely, you'll find so many stories.
And as for me, I'm just trying to write my own song.
Just an hour or a two, and I'll be headed for work.
The familiar petrichor surrounds the atmosphere,
And the hungover whims of the night dissolve with brand new sky.
And what remains throughout the day is the roadside smell of gasoline,
And one thing that raindrops cannot do is to wash away life's irony.
The world seems to be crowded with strangers,
And if you look closely, you'll find so many stories.
And as for me, I'm just trying to write my own song.
Just an hour or a two, and I'll be headed for work.
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