This is not my skyline
This is not my city-lights high
These are not the roads I’d wander down
When I need that spark of life

Whose buildings are these that surround me?
These unfamiliar steel trees.
This is not my skyline
This is not my city-lights high

I’m not looking for no streets of gold
Just the ones I’ve walked since I was five years old
This is not my skyline
This is not my city-lights high

This is not my skyline
This is not my city-lights high
These are not the roads I’d wander down
When I need that spark of life

Whose buildings are these that surround me?
Whose footprints are these in the cold concrete?
I don’t know them; they’re not my friends
They don’t have a part of me,
That crack don’t mean a damn thing to me.

Where is that Red Sox Nation
That Bean Pot Sensation
Where is that old wicked conversation

My week just ain’t the same
Without riding the T with my homies
From Quincy Center to Copley or Back Bay

Massholes on 93
Now it all seems just like a dream
of screeching tires, and bastard SUVs
Oh won’t you please bring it all back to me
Oh please, bring it all back to me.

Cause this is not my skyline
This is not my city-lights high . . .

(Apparently written shortly after New Years 2005. My first winter in Denver. I sure as hell remember writing it, and the sight which prompted it, but not that it was that soon after getting there. Interesting. Wonder if I will ever re-visit this song, record it anew. . .)