A Series Of Small Flames

East eye on the knock out marked my better place

Two came down from slaughter

Cold, unsteady

And tuned, tuned to an old flame

Tuned, tuned to an old flame

Hanging from the high beams, brushed fur backed by gold

Tendered by the one's tongue was the other

And tuned, tuned to a new flame

Tuned, tuned to a new flame

It leaned in above us it wasn't like a calling more a code

Seemed it would love us so colorless the landlight then it snowed

Holed up with the hallowed lost my better place

One would pen for whom, for when the other wouldn't

I can't mind a manor

Wasted in the ward

I'll come back through slaughter, cold, but ready

And tuned, tuned to my own flame

Tuned, tuned to my own flame