| Half a week before the winter
|
| The chill bites before it comes
|
| And I’m a child of the pleasure
|
| That he brings before he runs
|
| He sits behind a desk of mahogany
|
| He whispers dreams into my ear
|
| And though I’ve given him his empire
|
| He delivers me my fear
|
| The unicorns are riding high
|
| Powerful in coats of white
|
| I turn to look and burn my eyes
|
| I carry on, I carry all the weight of empty promise
|
| As I stand, swallowed by the light
|
| Flickering above the highway
|
| I hold my head and know the streets are mine tonight
|
| The vampires are growing tired
|
| The coats of white all turn to red
|
| My heart burns with desire
|
| I carry on, I carry on
|
| The unicorns are riding high
|
| Powerful in coats of white
|
| We turn to look and burn our eyes
|
| I carry on, I carry
|
| The vampires are growing tired
|
| The coats of white all turn to red
|
| My heart burns with desire
|
| I carry on, I carry on
|
| I carry on, I carry on
|
| We carry on |