Cold fire tonight and head slow

Ironed eyes and lead to hide the gallows

The crowd's stoned out on

Bottles in the back and the red rope

Bottles in the back and the red rope

I shot him down

Two knocks at the door and he hit the ground

One last breath, well, I suppose

And the beat goes

And the beat goes

And the beat goes

On broken strangers filled with blind hope

Perched the thing with feathers made of red smoke

As the sun bleeds down on

All the tangled rivers and the loaded guns

All the tangled rivers and the loaded guns

I shot him down

Two knocks at the door and he hit the ground

One last breath, well, I suppose

And the beat goes

And the beat goes

And the beat goes

The sun goes black as the cello plays

The kind of cinematic swell that makes the critics say

"If only we had made

Something out of nothing for a quiet grave

Something out of nothing for a quiet grave"

I shot him down

Two knocks at the door and he hit the ground

One last breath, well, I suppose

And the beat goes

And the beat goes

And the beat goes

And the beat goes