Most of the colors have faded, the sun is on the beach somewhere and there is a cold gust of loneliness being thrust onto these tracks.
No train coming, nothing in sight. No time for dreaming, maybe tonight. When the street lights turn on, the purple sky above us, the winds blowing and the sounds of Brooklyn’s songs begin to play.
In the schoolyards, the street corners and the abandoned playgrounds. Where most of the colors have faded but they brighten up in the night. With the sounds of her voice and the sense of her love….