Sweet, cold cola in the heat of day
New York Yankees stitched in white
A dirty, wooden bat and ball
Hooded meetings in the black of night
Handed down from Usnavi
The musty, grey sweatshirt
Soiled by the never fading memories
And the scent of coffee and dirt
My Abuela, my love, flying up to the heavens
Hands grasping hands, tears painting trails
Her soul lives on in her pigeons
And her life in the stories and tales
The people I met and the songs that I sang
Brought new spring to my steps and life to my voice
Every time I stepped on the stage with my friends
I knew that I had made the right choice
I had a found a true home on that stage
With my Converse in the air and my flag in my hand
I will never let go of the memories
Dominican Republic, you are my homeland
To be Sonny on stage, just one last time
Would have been a dream come true
But just to remember the lasting memories with people I love
That...that was beautiful too.
I feel so blessed to have spent all those nights
With the loving community of Washington Heights
