2. Yellow Cab - a Lib City story

There are journeys we plan.

And there are journeys that quietly change who we become.

Yellow Cab is a story about the second kind.

Inspired by the timeless spirit of America, the song follows a young man from the quiet shores of Florida to New York City in the 1960s. He arrives with nothing more than sunshine in his pocket, salt upon his boots, and the courage to step into a place where no one knows his name.

He believes he is searching for opportunity.

Instead, he discovers something much greater.

Along unfamiliar streets, an old golfer teaches him that strength is found not in power, but in precision; not in force, but in patience. Though he never becomes a golfer, he carries those lessons into another craft—the art of perfumery.

Every fragrance, like every golf swing, is a balance between restraint and freedom.

Between holding on and letting go.

Yellow Cab is more than a song. It is a reflection of the values that shape Lib City: curiosity, craftsmanship, quiet confidence, and the belief that the most meaningful destinations are often the ones we never intended to reach.

As we celebrate Independence Day, we also celebrate every dream that begins with uncertainty, every road that leads somewhere unexpected, and every person who finds liberty not only in a place—but in a way of living.

Sometimes getting lost...

is how you find your Liberty.

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Lyrics

Yellow Cab

Genre: American Folk 

Music & Lyrics: Lib City 

(The original song could be listened from Spotify and all other music platforms) 

Morning on the Hudson,
rain still in the air.
I stepped from a Yellow Cab
with salt upon my boots,
Florida in my pocket,
and nobody waiting there.

Yellow Cab...
Roll me where I cannot see.
Sometimes getting lost
is how you find your Liberty.

---

I walked...
Walked...
Walked...

Till an old man
Whispered to a golf ball

Like it knew tomorrow.

He smiled—

"Power makes headlines.
Precision makes history."

Then he swung,

and even the wind
stopped to listen.

---

Yellow Cab...
Don't wait for me.

The meter stopped.

The road went on.

Yellow Cab...

Carry every dream

too young

to know

its own name.

---

I never learned
to conquer the course.

Somewhere
between holding on
and letting go—

I found my swing.

Not with a club.

With life.

---

Now I bottle mornings.

A little cedar.

A little sea.

A little Florida sunshine
still hiding in my hands.

People ask,

"Who wears your perfume?"

I smile—

"The ones
still chasing
a better wind."

That Yellow Cab
never found my address.

It found
my City of Liberty.

I never found New York.

I found Liberty.

Some men follow maps.

I followed the wind.

The wind
never carried me away.

It finally
brought me home.

---

Yellow Cab...

Don't wait for me.

The meter stopped.

The road went on.

Yellow Cab...

Carry every dream

too young

to know

its own name.

I never found New York.

I found my City of Liberty.

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