8 years ago today....
I've lived in this neighborhood for 27 years
I know where to get good bagels, and exotic beers
The favorite sidewalk cafes where locals like to eat.
But I never paid attention to the Firehouse on the street
On one side there's a parking lot, The other side a Laundromat
Across the street is a small boutique where you might find an antique hat
And on the corner an all night diner and discount drug store
where life goes on but not quite like the way it did before.
(Chorus)
At first there was this slender thread of optimistic hope
The digging went on 'round the clock. No one slept, but somehow coped.
The photos of the missing men were posted on the glass
of the red door where we said a prayer whenever we walked passed.
The wind shifted to the north. Smoke filled our lungs
Stung our eyes, stung our throat, left a bitter taste upon our tongues.
We drank more then we should have before we went to bed.
Everyone I know had nightmares. Dreams all filled with dread.
Day blurred into night then day then night then day again.
"Missing" was the buzz word too hard to think it was the end.
The young men charging up the stairs as Hell came pouring down.
Though logic wasn't on our side, we thought they all would be found.
'Cause still there was this slender thread of optimistic hope
The digging went on 'round the clock. No one slept, but somehow coped.
The photos of the missing men were posted on the glass
of the red door where we said a prayer whenever we walked passed.
We all lite votive candles and laid flowers by the door, baked casseroles and homemade bread
but wished they could do more and the guys inside were grateful but preferred to grieve alone.
Though trained to save the lives of others, they could not save their own.
Maybe next year the pain won’t be as sharp as it is today though it will never completely go away.
And we will talk in terms of "Before" and "After the Attack", and wish that more than anything
that we could bring those brave men back.
Reality sliced clearly through that slender thread of hope
The digging just went on and on, some slept, most of us still cope
The photos of the missing, are missing from the glass
of the red door where we say a prayer whenever we walked passed.
Whenever we walked passed.
I know where to get good bagels, and exotic beers
The favorite sidewalk cafes where locals like to eat.
But I never paid attention to the Firehouse on the street
On one side there's a parking lot, The other side a Laundromat
Across the street is a small boutique where you might find an antique hat
And on the corner an all night diner and discount drug store
where life goes on but not quite like the way it did before.
(Chorus)
At first there was this slender thread of optimistic hope
The digging went on 'round the clock. No one slept, but somehow coped.
The photos of the missing men were posted on the glass
of the red door where we said a prayer whenever we walked passed.
The wind shifted to the north. Smoke filled our lungs
Stung our eyes, stung our throat, left a bitter taste upon our tongues.
We drank more then we should have before we went to bed.
Everyone I know had nightmares. Dreams all filled with dread.
Day blurred into night then day then night then day again.
"Missing" was the buzz word too hard to think it was the end.
The young men charging up the stairs as Hell came pouring down.
Though logic wasn't on our side, we thought they all would be found.
'Cause still there was this slender thread of optimistic hope
The digging went on 'round the clock. No one slept, but somehow coped.
The photos of the missing men were posted on the glass
of the red door where we said a prayer whenever we walked passed.
We all lite votive candles and laid flowers by the door, baked casseroles and homemade bread
but wished they could do more and the guys inside were grateful but preferred to grieve alone.
Though trained to save the lives of others, they could not save their own.
Maybe next year the pain won’t be as sharp as it is today though it will never completely go away.
And we will talk in terms of "Before" and "After the Attack", and wish that more than anything
that we could bring those brave men back.
Reality sliced clearly through that slender thread of hope
The digging just went on and on, some slept, most of us still cope
The photos of the missing, are missing from the glass
of the red door where we say a prayer whenever we walked passed.
Whenever we walked passed.