Marionette

A murder of crows, serenade the sky And the wind at my back, the sun in my eye I'm so damn tired, from holding my head high Eight long days, since that bastard lied Cause we fell for his banter And we followed his hand And he led us to war In a promised land With the bishop sold, turned the farmer blind And we gave them our ghost, when he made up our minds He led us to death my friend; he was bleeding us dry It was said to victor the spoiled, to the loser the prize When it comes to your judgment time You're the murderous type And I hope when they hang you They string you up right Cause we fell for his banter And we followed his hand He made up our minds And led us to war Yeah, we followed his hand He led us to war, again, again, again, again And I hope when they hang you they string you up right