Mona Lisas (And Mad Hatters)

And now I know 
Spanish Harlem are not just pretty words to say 
I thought I knew 
But now I know that rose trees never grow in New York City 

Until you've seen this trash can dream come true 
You stand at the edge while people run you through 
And I thank the Lord there's people out there like you 
I thank the Lord there's people out there like you 

While Mona Lisas and Mad Hatters 
Sons of bankers, sons of lawyers 
Turn around and say good morning to the night 
For unless they see the sky 
But they can't and that is why 
They know not if it's dark outside or light 

This Broadway's got 
It's got a lot of songs to sing 
If I knew the tunes I might join in 
I'll go my way alone 
Grow my own, my own seeds shall be sown in New York City 

Subway's no way for a good man to go down 
Rich man can ride and the hobo he can drown 
And I thank the Lord for the people I have found 
I thank the Lord for the people I have found