We’ve got our minds on other mountains
Our hearts will go to the man-made forest, for once
We will walk with muses and moguls and maestros and mentors
New York dust will rub off on us, we’ll bring it home in our hand luggage
People live there, 24 hours a day, why sleep when the mountains light your way?
But it’s where the innocent still drown and the witch still floats, the witchfinders still hunt there in Metropolis.