We'll come singing in the start of year,
with blowtorches, sledgehammers, songbooks,
come singing in the midnight wind,
sing sick stomachs, sing whiskey renegades,
for a new city of hearts,
and long island tea serenades.

We can burn the night brighter and older,
wiser, but still brave and so very unbroken,
striving as the year goes colder,
for every mountain, every boulder,
singing sledgehammer, songbook, take me home
on coastal hillsides far past sunset.

We are a city - we are together. We are
wiser for the war wounds, born out of battle scars
and brave enough - but not too brave
bitter enough, but not dead of it,
not lost or found but roadmakers,
groundbreakers, lovers of longing,
our city of hearts, our renegade calling.

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