This smoke rises from below me.
This smoke rises from below the trees.
I call you up, and I talk to you on the phone;
you're not really listening.
If there's a tornado in Brooklyn, I will fine you.
I'll invent a way to spin around your world.
If there's a tornado in Brooklyn, I will fine you.
I'll rise out from these flames.
The cities rising from below me.
The cities towering over the trees.
I call a friend about these days to come.
She says, I'm not really listening.
If there's a tornado in Brooklyn, I will fine you.
I'll invent a way to spin around your world.
And when your windows break in Brooklyn, I will fine you.
I'll rise out from these flames.
This smoke rises from below me.
This smoke rises from below the trees.
I call you up, and I talk to you on the phone;
you're not really listening.
If there's a tornado in Brooklyn, I will fine you.
I'll invent a way to spin around your world.
If there's a tornado in Brooklyn, I will fine you.
I'll rise out from these flames.