Melinda (Live from Town Hall / 2019)

Friday morning, early summer

Momma's still laying deep dead asleep

With the curtains drawn and her head underneath the blanket

Crack the front door, up the stairwell

Past the stink of the frying and the dying

And I hit the roof of my transistor out and crank it

Friday morning, seven-thirty

New York City, grand and dirty

Creeping out of the shadows like a whore

Look around, somewhere near, in the ground

I can hear there's a sound no one's ever noticed before

Down there on the street, someone's playing salsa

Someone's playing disco

Someone's making something burn

Someone plugged in a guitar and is shooting fireworks

And I say, "Melinda, when's it gonna be my turn?"

Oh

Friday midnight, try to find me

I'm the boy with his feet on the street

Hunting down the sound with his ear, like an antenna

Through the kitchens, past the bouncers

Those cabrons with the shades and the blades

Enjoying their latest shipment from Cartagena

Couples shouting, couples sweating

All the while, the band is playing

Old shit any wedding band can play

No one knows, and no one cares

But that kid by the stairs has a song inside him

That'll blow you all away

Down there on the street, someone's playing mambo

Someone's playing bebop

Like abuela's old LP

And I can hear the sound of of the bombs exploding

And I say, "Melinda, when they gonna notice me?"

Out there on the street, someone's tagging subways

Someone's jumping fences, someone's cursing at the moon

Meanwhile, some clown gets a million dollar contract

And I said, "Melinda, this story better change soon"

Out there on the street, they've been shooting cop cars

They've been torching high schools

There ain't nothing that can grow

All that I got is a crazy fortune teller

And I said, "Melinda, tell me where I got to go"