New York, I'm Yours

I was listening to The Decemberists on the way to work this morning -- "Los Angeles, I'm Yours" specifically -- and it made me wonder: why do I stay in New York? Reworking some already well written lyrics, here's why:

There is a city in the sea
A restless company
I don’t suppose you want to
And as it yells its angry tale
In sadist detail
Its affinity will haunt you
Its streets and avenues
Manics and ministers it hears
A destructive harmony
Shattering symphony
Hope and hopeless on the shore,
New York, I’m yours

Oh fellows, cocksure with allure
Empty of the pure
You can see my fear
And all the boys you drag about
A weeded crescent fount
From Saturdays to Saturday
You up and downtown crowd
Eyes hanging at your lips
We hope for the realest thing
As ancient choirs sing
One anxious cherub wheels above
New York, my love

Fuck, what a surge of pained brio
Seething on senses
Salient and surrogate
But oh, the smell of destiny
The heartache and vanity
It only makes me stoned
Oh great catastrophe,
Ditch of iniquity and tears
How I abhor this place
Its sweet and bitter taste
Has left me wretched, retching on all fours
New York, I’m yours