What would you do if I never were spotted alone
on the banks of the Hudson at night?
And what would you do if I always would call on the phone
just to ask if we were still alright?
Would you see me as a fool in love
or just a jester whose tongue should be tied
or a solid figured god above?
You'd be mistaken if I hadn't tried.
Called it safety just to be inside.
So pack your bags and
Meet me in the backstreets of this town.
We'll smoke a joint.
We'll burn it down.
It's hard to swallow these feelings now.

And what would I do if I caught you in catching the act
of me rolling my eyes in the dark?
And what would you do if I promised to break every pact
we had made while the car was in park?
Would you call me a liar, a thief,
a rantipole, a bandit, a crook?
Was I really a devil beneath?
Could I really return what I took?
Find God in the bindings of a book?
So save your looks and
Meet me in the backstreets of this town.
We'll smoke a joint.
We'll burn it down.
It's hard to swallow these feelings now.

And as we get closer to New York City,
the Hudson looks darker and less convincing.
Maybe you think it could use some fixing.
Maybe you think that there's something missing.
These feelings and these yearnings and those nights on the banks,
It really is a wonder that we never gave thanks.
It really is a wonder that we never sank.
It really is a wonder.
It really is a wonder.

So meet me in the backstreets of this town.
We'll smoke a joint.
We'll burn it down.
We'll take a drink.
We'll never drown.
We swear we'll someday leave this town.
It's hard to swallow these feelings now.