A story I’ve heard a million times,
Like that song I set on repeat,
Being told again by the same lady,
As I walked towards the 39th Street.
Every evening she walked home from the office,
Where she worked as a cleaner among clerks,
They don’t give her more than a nod or a glance
A petty plankton among the sharks.
She told me of the tale of her better days,
When her husband commuted to Wall Street,
Before she lost her fortune and was left alone,
In the shabby cabin on the 39th Street.
“My dear,” croaked she as she gripped my hand,
“Wealth is nothing but an illusion,
The present is a gift you may lose any second,
Don’t let the glitters cloud your vision.”
“Just ten years ago, I had it all,
There’s never red on my balance sheet,
I was just so rich that I almost forgot,
This old cabin on the 39th street.”
“The downfall came when we least expected,
The economy fell, my husband now penniless,
I never expected my account to run dry,
My daily blessings became my curse.
“My luxurious home and boxes of jewels
The money I never thought would deplete,
I lost my riches, my friends and my husband,
All but my mother on the 39th street.”
“When I came to her with just one bag on my back,
She smiled at the daughter who left her,
I was almost sure I would hear the mocking laughs,
And I did; but not from my mother.”
“I begged for forgiveness and swore to change,
I wished I never left for the suite,
Because just two years later she breathed her last,
Right here on the 39th Street.”
My friends asked why did I bother to care,
To listen again and again,
They thought sincerity was impossible,
So why even bother to pretend?
The lady walked alone for six long years,
Before we’ve got a chance to meet,
She tried to redeem for the mistakes of her past,
She’s my friend on the 39th Street.