North wind blowin’ like a hurricane house. Old man leanin’ like he’s pullin’ a plow. Neck bowed bendin’ like a willow bough. Red sky color of the end of time. Bleeds dry runnin’ down the center line. Wise guy pretends he doesn’t see the signs. Bad news everybody talkin’ ‘bout. A short fuse a half an inch from burnin’ out. All used up beyond a reasonable doubt. Make way for his majesty the prodigal king. Still taste the poison when you’re kissin’ the ring. Don’t say he never gave you anything. Deep breath the calm before the storm begins. Cold sweat pretend that you ain’t listenin’. Don’t bet on gettin’ by with that again. Short ride from here to where the beast resides. Fine line that separates the shadows inside. Make mine a double shot of cyanide