Calling Lightning Pt. 2

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