Calling Lightning Pt. 2 - Howlin' Rain

Someday I’ll find your rotting bones

Oh my golden old friend it’s so hard to let go

While time is drifting like the ice in the hearts of the bergs

Drifting beneath the northern lights

Lonely is the town

And dark is the dusk in the city’s bloodshot eyes

There was hardly a sound

But for the feathers of vultures beating the ground

We are only slaves to our ghostly arms and legs

Dancing in our graves

And laying in the ruins of this golden age

I worked in the fields in a dignified way

But my pride was just another agent of decay

You were my song when you ripped your pretty head

And let the laughter fly like you were burning your bread

Hold the dogs at bay, your laughter was the love that ran today

I tried to wield a greater blade

But all you lions can keep your bloody pride

We are only slaves to our master’s memories

Staggering through the days to yield the seed of the golden age

When we were young we said we’d never play the game

With our handles of wine and blood stained blazers

Well time now has surely passed us by

And I remember our school but little of our crimes

Oh my dear brothers what were your names?

And what was the nature of our glorious anger?

The sound we fear is only our day

Creeping behind us to another stranger

We are only slaves to our distant youths and coming graves

Let them say I was a hard working stiff and sand of the golden age