It finally got cold in New York today
It snowed it rained
Commuters complained
The climate had changed
It’ll never be the same
The Jets are in the playoffs and nobody came
Nobody came except
The camera on the tripod
It’s remotely operated
Tries to keep in frame the focus that remains
But I’m losing my advantage
Can’t remember what the day is
Guess it’s New Year’s Day
A new year today
May be too late may be too soon to say it
The heat death is underrated
To die is the sacred truth
With you
We stood in the glow of the microwave
Watching it rotate in a pattern
Nothing ever mattered, they say
I’ve been compromised
Grown weak before your eyes
I hope you look away
The Jets are driving down the field
In outer space
They wrote it on the surface of the new sovereign state
Go USA
May be too late may be too soon to say it
The heat death is underrated
To die is the sacred truth
With you
Find more lyrics at westlyrics.com
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