Grey Day . . . . . . .

We spell it differently, like color and center,
perhaps these subtleties make words lose their luster;
I'm an alien, then maybe I must be from New York awake,
hanging on all those words and every breath you take.

I'm eating out, maybe in the Bronx, calling for the check,
I hope they undestand me, doesn't matter, what the heck;
someone left the 'e' out but I still managed my whisky,
they learnt the hard way, got a first in american so they say.

I opened my catalog, sure enough something still mssing,
anyway, it's good that some of these things keep you guessing;
perhaps we're all too fussy, make up dialog as we go along,
it doesn't matter really does it, who may be right or wrong.

I might be knocked down, reprimanded and fall on my ass,
never mind dudes, all cats are grey in the dark when I pass.