Hem – Tourniquet

Brooklyn, I’m broken — I’m breaking apart —
Greenpoint pins down my hand, Red Hook pierces my heart —
And my blood runs into the Gowanus Canal
Where it sinks to the bottom
And hurts like hell.

The Prospectors still search for highs in the heights
‘Til their first bloody nose which they laugh off despite
How it seems that whatever gets left in a bar
Just becomes part of Brooklyn
And here we are.

Oh, here we are…

Brooklyn, your war was just won by the South —
Some kid’s shooting off rounds from the roof of his mouth —
And these trains held in Chambers are ready to blow
All the way back to Brooklyn
And here we go.

Oh, here we go…

Oh Brooklyn, your bridges are bound up in light —
Every artery’s clogged as you pull the belt tight —
And this tourniquet turns even tighter until
Traffic comes to a standstill.
We come to a standstill.
I come to a standstill.

Oh, here we are…

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