There's a story told of a little Japanese. Sitting demurely 'neath the cherry blossom trees. Miss Butterfly's her name, a sweet little innocent child was she. 'Till a fine young American from the s
Autumn in New York. Why does it seem so inviting?. Autumn in New York. It spells the thrill of first-nighting Glimmering crowds. And shimmering clouds. In canyons of steel. They're making me fee