Texty: Majestic Twelve (The). Searching For The Elvis Knob. Sweet Patrice.

God choreographs every Manhattan street
And the cabbies all weave
Through this clockwork ballet
Headlights like tinsel
Through the sweat, smoke and steam
What a magical, comitragical death of my dream
I told her I loved her
Over five thousand ways
But I never simply said it
So she never even knew
Now I'm here on this rooftop
With a stupid tattoo
Four and twenty blackbirds
And you taste like milk
It's got me sweating here in courderoy
That used to be silk
Sure, the graveyard's full of money
But all the epitaphs are lies
So I'm doomed to walk the walls
For Sweet Patrice