Black coffee in a chipped white cup.
The orbital beams are waking up.
The grease is hot on the flat top grill.
While the city holds a frozen thrill.
Glass spire rain falls on the street.
The holy stone feels the orbital heat.
Shatter the gold and the velvet red.
Before the morning light is spread.
Stained glass shards like a diamond spray.
Burning the blue of the coming day.
The regulars wait for a final brew.
While the vaulted ceiling splits in two.
Glass spire rain falls on the street.
The holy stone feels the orbital heat.
Shatter the gold and the velvet red.
Before the morning light is spread.
Heavy boots on the marble floor.
Iron bolts on the chapel door.
Searing white light hits the altar rail.
Turning the strongest spirit pale.
Glass spire rain falls on the street.
The holy stone feels the orbital heat.
Shatter the gold and the velvet red.
Before the morning light is spread.
Burn the toast and the buttered rye.
As the metal birds ignite the sky.
The steeple leans like a broken reed.
Sown from a dark and imperial seed.
Cello strings pull a heavy line.
Crossing the border of the divine.
Hold the cup till the handle burns.
Until the wheel of the empire turns.
Pancakes flip while the towers fall.
Writing the end on the kitchen wall.
Clean the counter and wipe the slate.
We all sit here and we simply wait.
Glass spire rain falls on the street.
The holy stone feels the orbital heat.
Shatter the gold and the velvet red.
Before the morning light is spread.
Pour one more cup of the bitter black.
The spires are gone and they ain't coming back.
