[Verse 1: Spoken, low and close to the mic] Mr. Jones, in one oh four... Two cats. Waiting for kids that never show. Mrs. Desrosiers, in two eighty... Her husband's back in Haiti — driving a Lyft. [Pause] I can see everything from here. You'd think they'd have a guardrail... But you can't guard against the night. [Verse 2: Trip-hop beat kicks in, heavy dragging pocket] Sally, living in four sixty two — dresses like a Japanese schoolgirl. pigtails in her hair — no judgement there. Ivan — in the basement gold teeth, gold watch, dealing on the weekends. Marcus in five oh five, working three jobs to support his wife... She's sleeping with Elsa. She still loves him... she's just lonely. Tammy in eighteen oh one, she's got quite a view — likes to walk around in the nude. [Chorus: Wide, cinematic, airy pads] The lights below are white and red The ground is so far below. You'd think they'd have a guardrail. [Verse 3: Minimalist beat, focus on the bass] Steve — seven seventeen. Really have no idea, but always wears a trenchcoat. Takes the stairs two at a time. Ms. Lee, three twenty three, listens to techno at two A M — eating takeout from Little Siam. [Bridge: Music swells, car alarm beat intensifies] nineteen stories. Brownstone. Every one has its own tale. I can hear the pigeons cooing Quiet sounds of comfort. Car alarm sounding in the distance... its own little beat. [Verse 4: Darker tone, piano stabs] Apartment two oh five is empty. Janie's rug still stained... still stained. Someone else will walk that floor where Janie was before. (where Janie was before) Michelle and Lois, ten oh nine — so much in love. Holding hands, fingers intertwined Frankie, ten seventeen, has three little barking dogs... barking all the time. [Vocal: Shouted] Shut the hell up! [Outro: Fade to rain and pigeons] nineteen stories. Brownstone. Every one has its own tale. I can hear the pigeons — but they are no comfort
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