Jesús Montero breathed out loudly and, smoking, watched an Audi through his fire escape
It was lightly raining, all the trains shuttled out on Concourse, all the dogs seemed to call her name
If all dogs go to heaven
And all dames ache for Daniel Day
Fuck with me darlin' and I'll make you pay

The city is a womb of brown brick beds of clay
Outside of the bars the Lakers are on in the alleyway
But it shines from a time when the waitresses were fine
And their great big bosoms bulged through their "hi, I'm Jamie" signs
And Jesús's eyes glides across the storefronts as he longs for a city's past
That drips into the present like honey from a heated glass, and
All dogs go to heaven
All songs end in quiet refrains
Smart moms buy generic, say it tastes the same

Train is coming, train is chugging
Jesús running, Jesús coming
Metro card expired, don't care
Through the turnstiles, up the stairs
Hear the train lights in slow motion, creamy white as if a lotion
Dripped upon the body lying on the rails, Jesús he pails
All dogs go to heaven, amps up to 11
All cabs go to Bedford and North 11
All dogs go to heaven, grandmas go to reverends
All punks hang outside of 7-11