God choreographs every Manhattan streetnAnd the cabbies all weavenThrough this clockwork balletnHeadlights like tinselnThrough the sweat, smoke and steamnWhat a magical, comitragical death of my dreamnnI told her I loved hernOver five thousand waysnBut I never simply said itnSo she never even knewnNow I'm here on this rooftopnWith a stupid tattoonnFour and twenty blackbirdsnAnd you taste like milknIt's got me sweating here in courderoynThat used to be silknSure, the graveyard's full of moneynBut all the epitaphs are liesnSo I'm doomed to walk the wallsnFor Sweet Patrice