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 get up on the tree
Turn the color green the way you ought to be

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

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