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