Dreaming In Hell's Kitchen

(chorus:)

Of passion, love, and bravery

A brown bag lunch, and a mug of tea,

Through gates of horn and ivory,

We're dreaming in Hell's Kitchen.

A pugnacious politician in his armor-plated suit

Propitiates the wealthy while he fiddles with his flute

He's crusader, Alexander, and Napolean to boot

He's seeking fresh objectives on the borders of the Kitchen

So there's this one and there's that one,

Gracie Mansion & the 'Street,

Denouncing some poor devil who has nothing left to eat,

And he's not allowed to sleep here so he'd best stay on his feet

For we care so much about him that we'll kick him from the Kitchen.

There's many on the breadline who never tried to fight

And there's many that have earned their bread

by working day and night

But with all their sweat and labor was there chance that saw them right

While a hazard of the dice left the others by the kitchen?

He stinks and he's a drunkard, that bum we just passed by

And I think but for the grace of God that likewise there go I

And the buck inside his cup is less compassion for a sigh

Than libation when I'm dreaming in Hell's Kitchen.