Someone's grandma on a bench, I passed her everyday, br sharing the crumbs she'd begged for with any friend or stray br Once I heard her mutter someone killed her kitty. br I don't want to get lost in New York City. br br All of the things she used to love, were written on her face. br Laughter and song were everything, another time and place, br a place where in her dreams, she still was pretty. br I don't want to get lost in New York City. br br Grandma wasn't on the the bench, when I passed by today. br Her bundles and bags of dreams were there, but she had gone away br and I cried, because I knew she found her kitty. br I don't want to get lost in New York City.