It can be heard from here to Lynn
The whispering under the din
This cacophony is a symphony
It can be heard down to Maryland
Sine waves that can't be pinned
This empathic telepathy
And the city is shrinking
As it grows
And it echoes through this house
There will be no one else
The flags have remained in place
Conflicted in their efface,
Not knowing of a life complete.
These new tensions unaware,
This electricity flies everywhere
Between the coast and Gardner Street
And the city is shrinking
As it grows
And this city will always be
Two weeks old
And it echoes through this house
There will be no one else
