New York was once a jail
Keeping me in solitary confinement
With invisible bars and barbed wires
But now the leaves on the trees are green
Telling you to go, unafraid,
The colours and smell of failure pass by you
Knowing they have no rest there
Today free are the soft winds of Central Park
The artist is painting his version of the park
The cello sounds the music of yesterday.
The cyclists ride quietly
And you are strolling bringing freedom