New York,
Grace under stress.
Burning in our history,
burning in our hearts.

New York,
Grace under stress.
Burning in our history,
burning in our hearts.

Crisp fall air,
ev’ryone racing ev’rywhere.
Minds at the usual busy pace,
no idea what was to take place.

The roads were full of yellow taxis,
glistening in the light.
Not knowing that in an instant,
they’d be out of sight.

New York,
Grace under stress.
Burning in our history,
burning in our hearts.

New York,
Grace under stress.
Burning in our history,
burning in our hearts.

In New York
busy is an ordinary day.
But this one was going to be
all foul play.

Two planes, two giant crashes,
outside the windows it was raining ashes.
All TVs flashed the nightmare,
some people ran, some froze, some stared.

New York,
Grace under stress.
Burning in our history,
burning in our hearts.

New York,
Grace under stress.
Burning in our history,
burning in our hearts.

Mobs on the ground,
screaming sounds,
the towers were aflame.
We all knew our lives would never
be the same.

This fall day was hell,
in an instant the world became unwell.
But this is America, our great land.
We pulled together and extended a helping hand.

New Yorkers gave with their hearts.
Water, a seat, or a sandwich.
Come in, rest, eat,
you look beat.

Some thought it was just a fire.
We found places to retire.
Each of us wanted to go home,
for some it was in a war zone.

New York,
Grace under stress.
Burning in our history,
burning in our hearts.

New York,
Grace under stress.
Burning in our history,
burning in our hearts.

New York is tough and gritty,
but even today in the soul of the city,
the memories replay
that violent day.

We chose to stay
and we’ll never be chased away.
We chose to stay
and we’ll never forget this day.