Текст песни
He's a gray man in a gray coat, a flicker in the glass. Just a smudge of a face on the downtown express, moving fast. I've been on his tail since the Barclay job went south, a hunch, a whisper from a unreliable mouth
He hits the pavement, melts into the flow. The noon-time crowd, a river I can't cross, moving slow. I push through the bodies, a salmon upstream, losing the thread of my own damn dream. He glances back, not a look of fear, but of pity. Then he's gone, vanished in the city
And now the crowd feels different. The faces all turn my way. A newsboy, a secretary, a banker in for the day. Are they all in on it? Is this the final joke? The whole city's a stage, and I'm the mark, the poor schmuck, the bloke. The whisper in the crowd is my own name, I swear. It's saying"Go home, detective. There's nobody left for you there"
The rain starts again. Washes it all clean. No gray man. No crowd. Just me, and the feeling of being seen.