New York, 1995
By the Highline way downtown
The trains up there made this city run
Giuliani’s gonna tear it all down

It was cold so I grabbed a yellow cab
Driver was a tiny old man
Leather jacket, newsboy cap
Pall mall smoking on the dash

A motorcycle went flying by
He said "He’s crazy! It’s too cold to ride
I used to be crazy, I raced bikes
In Hungary in ’35"

"Must have broken every bone
Even broke some twice,"
We shared a smile and I said
"You’re lucky you’re alive,"

Then his smile disappеared
Like the fading of a light
"I was in thе camps, you know
Just a few of us survived
Lucky to be alive"
I’ve seen New York’s treasures celebrated and renowned
And also those not made of stone or steel
The stories of my town
Like the song of the exiled, the men who drive the cabs
As they live the story of our city and the promise of our flag

I grabbed a taxi the other day
I said Newark Terminal C
Driver had a Chinese name
In broken English said to me

"You musician," I said, "Yes, I am."
He said, "My son plays violin,"
I said, "Where in China are you from?
And how’s this country been?"

He said, "I come from Chongqing
I’ve been here 15 years
I was a miner there and very poor
I am lucky to be here,"

"My son, he studies hard in school
He’ll get a PhD
Or maybe be a doctor
He won’t drive a cab like me
Won’t drive a cab like me,"
I’ve seen New York’s treasures celebrated and renowned
And also those not made of stone or steel
The stories of my town
Like the song of the exiled, the men who drive the cabs
As they live the story of our city and the promise of our flag

We’re passing by the Highline
You know, it never was torn down
Now there’s acres of shimmering glass and steel
Another jewel in the city’s crown

I think about my forebearers
My Chinese daughter too
Amazed that I’m so lucky
Get to live the life I do
Get to live the life I do

I cannot share my luck with him
So I smile and thank him again
He drives off to the taxi line
With the other exiled men
To make this city run again