1. |
Greenwood
05:19
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The parrots of the Greenwood steeples, keep the decorum for the former people. We climbed up a Brooklyn mountain range, trying not to let the guards, humiliate us. Standing high upon the hairline of a hill. The grass and graves worn out like faded coins and bills. We slept upon treasures, but what's buried in your head. We were visiting something, but nobody was dead. I wanna know, whats really on your mind. I gotta know who's at the reins this time. You gotta gell me, you were my brother. You gotta tell me, who's the assailant in this struggle. Five days waiting through the skeleton of a storm, that moved through town to the tune of a ghost is born. Now you're spinning in the rubble like a half smoked cigarette, dissolving slowly, oh so slowly in a puddle. You were a poor boy, thats what we all got to believe. In the shadow of the underground, we built our adult teeth. Quotatations on the wall, saying everything's a struggle, we came out to stretch our limbs and offer our rebuttals. I wanna know what's really on your mind. I gotta know who's at the reins this time. Are you a fortress, are you defenseless? you were never a prophet, but you got a few things right. Now you're just in between, spend your days all in a dream gotta little old, don't get mean, walking in between these gravestones. I wanna know what's really on your mind. I gotta know, who's at the reins this time. Open mind like a locket, didnt care if you lost it, not concerned for the profit, such an awful waste of time.
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2. |
Old Soul
05:09
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Gonna blow up big, kid. Your eyes are like peepholes in the cave i'm in. Sing yourself sweeter. Hum a little freer, I'm just breathing in the ether with a smile . Dreamed I woke with the dawn, found you dancing on my neighbor's front lawn. I asked you why you smiled, you just looked at me and laughed, said i don't understand but it's been happening for a while. Hey you're a good woman, but i think its time you snuff out your man Put your life up for auction, head back to California. They're dying out west to hear how the east was won. But you know, you're voice is old soul-sepia tone, dripping down slow from a tube radio. Who the hell an think in all this heat? These revelations bleed the bank but seem so free. Abstractions in my teeth, the concrete on my feet, a city ripe with concetes and a ghost that won't be born. My old shit falls around your new room, ideas and notes the wind blew, right outo of your hand before you could understand the things you want to say can't find no shape in words. I get so sad when you sing to them, smile when you sing to me, just me. Get so sad when you sing for them, smile when you sing for me, just me. but you know, your voice is old soul-sepia tone, dripping down slow from a tube radio. The floor creaks that we sleep on, a mattress out in the street; i'm a garden grown child, with a thin, thin skin, and absolutely no sense of the wild.
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3. |
House fire
05:05
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Like a child in a house, Like a child, helpless in a house. Like a child, helpless in a house, screaming fire, screaming fire. Stop coming home so hysterical, holding out your hand won't invoke a miracle. the world falls apart, you're putting pieces together.See the end oh so Biblical, but don't you know its revolution, not revelation that brought us here? Spread yourself so so minimal the smoke you see is not literal; where you gonna run when the door is locked behind you? when you're splitting hairs, so so cynical, are you hot or cold in your direction? the sun's gonna rise will you carry the night in your pocket. Like a child in a houselike a child helpless in a housesee the smoke but you can't get out. see the smoke but you can't get outoh, you're like a child helpless in a house.
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4. |
So
04:47
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They say necessity is the mother of invention. I say you are a sucker for attention, always stumbling through the town, looking quietly around, for somebody to offer up their hand. No one understands half the shit you do, putting life into days i planned to sleep though. But it's really just a joke and its starting to get old, always beeing your ace in the hole. You are so slow, you are the slow burhing flame. The dam it broke wihen the day got one more clockstroke. In this bubble that we live just south of Park Slope. And i've seen these faces out, the boys you gave the run around, apologize until they let their guard down. now its Halloween so it's all just make believe, and the leaves are brown, but the boys are green with envy. So as we sit inside this bender, watch the bottle reinvent her, just one sip, no maybe two or three. You are so slow, you are the slow burning flame. Fog stumbles in, the city starts to dim, oh how long, how long this gonna stay? Gotta grow up now, I won't get in the way.
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