East eye on the knock out marked my better place
Two came down from slaughter
Cold, unsteady
And tuned, tuned to an old flame
Tuned, tuned to an old flame

Hanging from the high beams, brushed fur backed by gold
Tendered by the one's tongue was the other
And tuned, tuned to a new flame
Tuned, tuned to a new flame

It leaned in above us, it wasn't like a calling, more a code
Seemed it would love us, so colorless the landlight, then it snowed

Holed up with the hallowed lost my better place
One would pen for whom, for when, the other wouldn't
I can't mind a manor
Wasted in the ward
I'll come back through slaughter, cold, but ready
And tuned, tuned to my own flame
Tuned, tuned to my own flame