Dreaming In Hell's Kitchen

(chorus:)
 Of passion, love, and bravery
 A brown bag lunch, and a mug of tea,
 Through gates of horn and ivory,
 We're dreaming in Hell's Kitchen.
 A pugnacious politician in his armor-plated suit
 Propitiates the wealthy while he fiddles with his flute
 He's crusader, Alexander, and Napolean to boot
 He's seeking fresh objectives on the borders of the Kitchen
 So there's this one and there's that one,
 Gracie Mansion & the 'Street,
 Denouncing some poor devil who has nothing left to eat,
 And he's not allowed to sleep here so he'd best stay on his feet
 For we care so much about him that we'll kick him from the Kitchen.
 There's many on the breadline who never tried to fight
 And there's many that have earned their bread
 by working day and night
 But with all their sweat and labor was there chance that saw them right
 While a hazard of the dice left the others by the kitchen?
 He stinks and he's a drunkard, that bum we just passed by
 And I think but for the grace of God that likewise there go I
 And the buck inside his cup is less compassion for a sigh
 Than libation when I'm dreaming in Hell's Kitchen.