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 tell 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.

Hey poor boy, thats what you want us all to believe,
In the shadow of the underground, we built our adult teeth.
Quotations 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.