It's the same old lady, putting out the wash
Standing in the rain in her mackintosh —
Same old lady standing in the rain!
The thought of New York was going insane

Hey little leaf, lying on the ground —
Now you're turning slightly brown!
Why don't you come back on the tree
Turn the color green the way you ought to be?

My mind is fading and my body grows weak
And my lips won't form the words I speak
And now I'm floating away on a barrel of pain
New York City won't see me again

It's the same old man, sitting at the mill
Mill-wheel turning of its own free will
I'm certainly glad to be at home
New York City continues on, alone

I'm certainly glad to be at home
New York City continues on, alone
New York City continues on, alone
New York City continues...