There's a game people play on those days when forlorn hopes all die,
Where they joyfully watch fallen angels crash out of the sky,
The blood and the broken wings all pour down on this field of dreams,
Sometimes heads turn away but they still hear the sound of the screams.
They can tear the wall down just to try to get closer to you,
As you stare them all down in the way that they taught you to do,
Though the sum of your parts feels less dark than the black of the whole,
When that moment arrives you may yet be the one in control.
In the still of the night there's that quite unmistakable sound,
Of the slide racking back and then forth as it chambers a round,
It's a means to find out what's concealed by the door it unlocks,
But once more you unload it and put it away in its box.
The child of the mind is now mocking the man that's full grown,
One that knows he could do with an angel or two of his own,
It was uncertain once although now you've dispelled any doubt,
There just isn't enough courage left for a coward's way out.
Where they joyfully watch fallen angels crash out of the sky,
The blood and the broken wings all pour down on this field of dreams,
Sometimes heads turn away but they still hear the sound of the screams.
They can tear the wall down just to try to get closer to you,
As you stare them all down in the way that they taught you to do,
Though the sum of your parts feels less dark than the black of the whole,
When that moment arrives you may yet be the one in control.
In the still of the night there's that quite unmistakable sound,
Of the slide racking back and then forth as it chambers a round,
It's a means to find out what's concealed by the door it unlocks,
But once more you unload it and put it away in its box.
The child of the mind is now mocking the man that's full grown,
One that knows he could do with an angel or two of his own,
It was uncertain once although now you've dispelled any doubt,
There just isn't enough courage left for a coward's way out.
