In the streets, there's a sweet harmony that only belongs here; no one else would recognize it
The sound of New York accents yelling, along with the ladies laughing on the bus; you can hear it
The streets are dirty and too cramped, the air is a mixture of lovely familiarity, food, and weed
When you see the brown puddles shimmer, you realize this place is just what you need
There's a feeling of small-town pride; you're strangers, but you're all in agreement
Everyone is unfamiliar, yet somehow know each other; that's the arrangement
Immigrant, transplant, or New Yorker, you are all somehow connected
You're all experiencing the same sorrow, the same rejection
It isn't glitz and glamour here; the train is much too loud, the people annoyingly gritty
They don't move out of your way, shoving you, reminding you that this is city-living
The rats are as bold as the people, just running and straining to survive here
Yet, here is where my heart has settled; in my soul, I hold it dear
The neighbor across the hall stops in and says "tell me if you need anything"
To a new mother, earnest words from a stranger mean everything
At Bee Cafe, they all know the baby, they smile and talk to her
As if she were able to answer; but it warms my sleep-deprived mother's heart
Woodside, you are beauty and beast, happiness and sorrow, familiar and foreign
Woodside, you are forever my home, my complicated family, you're where I fit in
Woodside, you are unassuming, not quite elegant, but beautiful all the same
Woodside, you are a comfort place, somewhere anyone can belong
Woodside, you'll always be the first place in New York I've felt at home.
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