Research, Research, Research. It Means Everything.

I'm Not Leaving New York. And Neither Is Anyone Else. We're Here. We Are Quintessential Americans - We're Not Only American, But New York-american.

Perfect Night Has That Magic And It Has The Raw Energy That Grabs You By The Throat.

Give Me Your Hungry, Your Tired, Your Poor, That's What The Statue Of Bigotry Says. Your Poor Huddled Masses, Let's Just Club Them To Death, And Get It Over With.

One Chord Is Fine. Two Chords Are Pushing It. Three Chords And You're Into Jazz.

When You Think The Night Has Seen Your Mind, That Inside Your Twisted And Unkind, Let Me Stand To Show That You Are Blind. Please Put Down You Hands Cause I See You. I'll Be You Mirror.