02-28-2021, 02:54:16 AM
The balance of power is a delicate thing
But cometh the hour, cometh the king
Here at the summit, the pendulum swings
'Cause like any puppet, the world's on a string
Invisible glove with the globe on a thread
Just one man can cut it, can plummet the web
It is said on the back of the eyes of the dead
Is a terror in black with a tie burning red
With the blood that was spilled in a chilling whodunit
Your cupboards are filled; there's no pinning the culprit
Assassins just pale when he's kicking the bucket
Of madmen and magnates, the sick and corrupted
There's a shape within the shadows, there's a chill up in the air
No, your status doesn't matter, empty will or billionaire
In a palace or a manor, manned with killers at your care
If you're pencilled in his planner, chance is he's already there
Perhaps that new butler who walked past your henchmen
And brandished that tumbler of port no one questioned?
So hand in your number, report in to heaven
Those passes when punched, well they're all forty seven.
But cometh the hour, cometh the king
Here at the summit, the pendulum swings
'Cause like any puppet, the world's on a string
Invisible glove with the globe on a thread
Just one man can cut it, can plummet the web
It is said on the back of the eyes of the dead
Is a terror in black with a tie burning red
With the blood that was spilled in a chilling whodunit
Your cupboards are filled; there's no pinning the culprit
Assassins just pale when he's kicking the bucket
Of madmen and magnates, the sick and corrupted
There's a shape within the shadows, there's a chill up in the air
No, your status doesn't matter, empty will or billionaire
In a palace or a manor, manned with killers at your care
If you're pencilled in his planner, chance is he's already there
Perhaps that new butler who walked past your henchmen
And brandished that tumbler of port no one questioned?
So hand in your number, report in to heaven
Those passes when punched, well they're all forty seven.
I can't think of anything clever.