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, [bad word] 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
 [bad word] back through slaughter, cold, but ready...
 and tuned, tuned to my own flame
 tuned, tuned to my own flame