You’ve got your shield and you’ve got your sword;
A hard drop on the sundown side.
You’re the kind of mind who wouldn’t mind the silver screen.
You’re now torn — been knocking on a broken door.
When it’s over, it’s over. You’ve won what should have been yours.
Speak, now sleep. You’re buried six feet deep.
It’s over, it’s over. Gone with the demons in me.
A curious move and you punk the prize — right in the face.
Eye on the crosshair, licking your lips.
You’re sly. Now you’re sailing back home on a burning, sinking, ship.
trumpet solo