frank sinatra – fly me to the moon

I am packing my bags for New York City tomorrow and the hustle and the bustle, where everything moves moves moves and speed is your friend and the pace is moving much faster and clowns in Neil Young’s lungs do the trick of disaster. The lights, the horns, the noise and all her secret seductive ploys, everything you sacrifice and everything she destroys mean nothing as the rattle and ring of the Chairman’s singing, paint the picture of what it’s like to stand underneath her, in dreamlike grandeur, perched on top of the world for the grandest view and I am standing on the moon.

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