Fly, Eagles, Fly

Bare-boned shot to my soul from fuckin’ left field man

More grizzled than my dusted up hundred-watt head

Punched holes in chests like Julian’s kick

Orange cabs were steel curtains I shit you not

A throbbing mass holding on for dear life because of us

But this shit wasn’t rock n’ roll

Cold, steel reapers were Lombardo on the stool

The backbone of that savage chaos

The Bataclan bombshell we never wanted to be