LYRIC

Wicked kings stand before towers tall
They look to the sky for fire to fall
Copper is restless till it turns to gold

Some burn fast to keep from the cold
I’m sitting here watching a slow day unfold

Bald headed vultures, black feathered crows
Digging around for all they feel they owed
Copper is restless till it turns to gold

With infinite howling out in the cold
I’m sitting here watching a slow day unfold

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