Mona Lisas and Mad Hatters

Now I know
"Spanish Harlem" are not just pretty words to say
I thought I knew
But now I know that rose trees never grow
In New York City

Until you've seen this trash can dream come true
You stand at the edge while people, they run you through
I thank the Lord there's people out there like you
I thank the Lord there's people out there like you

While Mona Lisas and Mad Hatters
Sons of bankers, sons of lawyers
Turn around and say, "Good morning" to the night
For unless they see the sky
But they can't and that is why
They know not if it's dark outside or light

This Broadway's got
It's got a lot of songs to sing
And if I knew the tunes, I might join in
I go my way alone
I'll grow my own, my own seeds shall be sown
In New York City

Subway's no way for a good man to go down
Rich man can ride, and the hobo, he can drown
I thank the Lord for the people I have found
I thank the Lord for the people I have found

While Mona Lisas and Mad Hatters
Sons of bankers, sons of lawyers
Turn around and say, "Good morning" to the night
While Mona Lisas and Mad Hatters
Sons of bankers, sons of lawyers
Turn around and say, "Good morning" to the night
And for unless they see the sky
And they can't and that is why
They know not if it's dark outside
They know not if it's dark outside
They know not if it's dark outside or light