Mr. Hudson

Yeah, I see the birds floating...and the cars roaring...the oak trees dancing to the music of the wind...I hear the trains running through the veins of the city and the folks of new york shuffling their feet across the dirty sidelines of the bustling city. Mr. Hudson doesnt seem to mind...he looks down at the ground from his window on the 36th floor of the Walter P. Chrysler building. The beautiful art deco walls cast off their shadows across lower Manhattan, they move in undulance as the day goes on tirelessly and as the sun sinks. Iridescent lights say their last goodbyes with waving their light mosaics in the sky for all to see. Mr. Hudson always liked the strangeness of night rather than blinding day, night was pure to him, where everything showed its true meaning and intent, as if every lamp post, building, person, alley dogs, trees, and rocks had been re-reborn, reconstructed and shown the night on their first day of life.