Forever Be Upstanding at the Door

I could be your dust at the door.
The eastern city rust, growing
more and more and more.
New York is easier these days.
The trouble is, the trouble is, the trouble always stays.
So, I’ll become a wanderer,
sleep on iron floors,
and I will be upstanding at the door.
And I will be endeavouring,
and ever I will be,
forever be upstanding at the door.
You only look alive through the mist.
Time is ticking firmly on my wrist as I ride by.
Oh what a lonely night to exist.
The New York City sun has its heaven in the sky
So, I’ll become a wanderer,
sleep on iron floors,
and I will be upstanding at the door.
And I will be endeavouring,
and ever I will be,
forever be upstanding at the door.
You pass me delicately by.
Trouble will indefinitely, definitely die,
for now I see an ocean in your eye,
but trouble in the ocean causes trouble in the sky.
So, I’ll become a wanderer,
sleep on iron floors,
and I will be upstanding at the door.
And I will be endeavouring,
and ever I will be,
forever be upstanding at the door.