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Who do you think would even show up at the funeral day? |
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Staring six feet down, that's my hallowed ground |
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Just a bed of dirt and bones, that's where I'll lay |
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Words carved like a poem into some cheap headstone |
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And who's so lucky |
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but to have a few dear souls tried and true? |
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And could you even hear the brassy sounds |
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of the last bells crying out? |
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I'm just a dark horse, with a pale heart |
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on a cold night, for a long walk |
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Just a dead flame, fuck this old game |
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lay me down now, I've got a new name |
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Would anyone show up with a few last words to say? |
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And toast my final hour, at least piss on my grave? |
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Maybe there's a sad song that a lonely trumpet could play |
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The tune could flutter on into an evening sun |
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And who's so lucky |
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but to have a few dear souls tried and true? |
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There won't be a chorus from a crowd |
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just the crickets chirping loud... |
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I'm just a dark horse, with a pale heart |
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on a cold night, for a long walk |
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Just a dead flame, fuck this old game |
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lay me down now, I've got a new name |
