A Series of Small Flames

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