Walking down,
Any old street,
In New York City,
Lots of people I meet.

Sitting in a cafe,
Watching them go by,
Before I even say hello,
They already said goodbye.

Sometimes I feel
I would like to go,
Back where it’s warm,
Down in old Mexico.

Instead I am stuck here,
Frozen to the ground,
In the winds of cold people,
Blowing all around.

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