Block after block, resonating a pure vibration,
the ticking of the clock, a perfect timed entry.
The crashing of the waves from a place once so distance,
the parting of the sea, cooling breeze.
‘Twas 1966, Caitanya’s timeless calling,
His commander-in-cheif that there amongst the soldiers.
From Grand, Broome and Spring and all around East Village,
word of mouth, sight and sound.
Better check those brakes, from now begins the flowing,
America it waits, without it even knowing.
Far far away lies the birthplace of my master,
oh New York, New York.
The watering of the root, the lighting of the candle,
the fifth note of the flute, the opening of the parachute.
I, me and mine, yeah we all wanna be there.
Oh captain of the boat keep us afloat.
Written and produced by Krishna Sharma