Will you willow in the park
As the halls of man grow dark
And the streetlamps cast their shade
The beds of weary travelers made
Will you be heard or cast aside
The faces blank as if to hide
Souls which learned where they must go
The earth is tilled with scars that grow
Will you be the parasite
Upon the earth the pretty blight
Bloomed and held between my hands
My baby was the promised land
Or will you willow in the park
Outlast the lamps that last go dark
Sweat and dirt caked to my hands
My baby was the promised land