The moon looks down. I watch
The demons playing cards with me, my heart
Deciding who should claim my soul.
Apart
From thought and pain
I know the force is guiding me and then
I throw the queen of spades
To the one with bloodshot eyes and hear his moan
Again
He’s raging now
He knows that he’s been beat and lost
My soul again
To the man with scars that mark his hands
And tearing up his side. He's won
Through me
The power of the light it throbs again
I throw the bottle back
Into his twisted face. It breaks and tears
The flesh of pride and hate. And then he turns
And flees
Away into the night on broken glass.
On broken glass.