North wind blowing like a hurricane house
Old man leaning like he's pulling a plow
Neck bowed, bending like a willow bough

Red sky the color of the end of time
Bleeds dry running down the center line
Wise guy pretends he doesn't see the signs

Bad news everybody talking about
Short fuse half an inch from burning out
All used up beyond a reasonable doubt

Make way for his majesty, the prodigal king
Still taste the poison when you're kissing the ring
Don't say he never gave you anything

Deep breath, the calm before the storm begins
Cold sweat say you ain't listening
Don't bet on getting by with that again

Short ride from here to where the beast resides
Fine line that separates the shadows inside
Make mine a double shot of cyanide