The Dakota

It was a Monday morning, I was coming in from a long trip on the road
I flagged a cab near the East Side Terminal
I said, "Please take me home."
We drove up along Third Avenue, crossed through Central Park
When we came out at Seventy second Street
I felt a cold chill in my heart

Every time I see the Dakota, I think about that night
Shots ringing out, the angry shouts
A man losing his life
Well, it's something we shouldn't dwell upon
But it's something we shouldn't ignore
Too many good men have been cut down
Let's pray there won't be any more

Rush hour traffic was bottled up
We slowly inched by
I didn't want to look, but I couldn't help staring
At the scene of the crime
There was an old man sweeping last night's dirt
Out of the darkened vestibule
And a uniformed guard in a gold-trimmed cap
Watching the world pass in review

But every time I see the Dakota, I think about that night
Shots ringing out, the angry shouts
A man losing his life
Well, it's something we shouldn't dwell upon
But it's something we shouldn't ignore
Too many good men have been cut down
Let's pray there won't be any more

I don't believe in coincidence
So why then on the radio
Did an old familiar voice
Echo back from not so long ago?
"Imagine all the people
Living life in peace."
Well, it's hard to do
When you are on this blood-stained street

I wish I had the answer
To the simple question, "Why?"
I wish this taxi would go faster
Oh, I wish the driver would try
To leave this street
And leave this old building far behind
I wish I could take these bitter thoughts
And just shake them from my mind

But Every time I see the Dakota, I still think of that night
Shots ringing out, the angry shouts
A man losing his life
Well, it's something we shouldn't dwell upon
But it's something we shouldn't ignore
Too many good men have been cut down
Let's pray there won't be any more