Mirth

Twistin' around on blue leather booth

My ears still popping from travel and use

I picked at my oatmeal and plumped up my lips

He gives his hand a suggestion, wish

It's not you, it's New York I miss

I've got a problem I think he could fix

He seems to undo all my usual tricks

But the marks on his belly, the lines I trace

Shadow softness and romantic grace

It's not you, it's New York I face

I dreamt of him on a JetBlue flight

Nursing me into a feverish night

Lay on my back, whisperin' his name

Letting him unravel a decade of blame

It's not you, it's New York I claim

Well, in a thunder breath, I coughed up my heart

My life in my hands, a good place to start

Little creature born of joy and mirth

Loving without the help of anything

Little creature born of joy and mirth

Loving without the help of anything

On earth

It's not you, it's New York that works