Calling Lightning, Pt. 2

Someday I'll find your rotting bones
Oh my golden old friend it's so hard to let go
While time is drifting like the ice in the hearts of the bergs
Drifting beneath the northern lights
Lonely is the town
And dark is the dusk in the city's bloodshot eyes
There was hardly a sound
But for the feathers of vultures beating the ground
We are only slaves to our ghostly arms and legs
Dancing in our graves
And laying in the ruins of this golden age
I worked in the fields in a dignified way
But my pride was just another agent of decay
You were my song when you ripped your pretty head
And let the laughter fly like you were burning your bread
Hold the dogs at bay, your laughter was the love that ran today
I tried to wield a greater blade
But all you lions can keep your bloody pride
We are only slaves to our master's memories
Staggering through the days to yield the seed of the golden age
When we were young we said we'd never play the game
With our handles of wine and blood stained blazers
Well time now has surely passed us by
And I remember our school but little of our crimes
Oh my dear brothers what were your names?
And what was the nature of our glorious anger?
The sound we fear is only our day
Creeping behind us to another stranger
We are only slaves to our distant youths and coming graves
Let them say I was a hard working stiff and sand of the golden age