Classical Machine

Clockwork shadows in the velvet sky. Violins whisper while the cities cry.

Metallic thunder in the underground. Old sonatas buried in the sound. Every measure is

a war I fight. Every downbeat cuts the silent night. If I fall beneath the crashing wave.

Let the strings write courage on my grave. Raise the bars, let the violin scream

over roaring amps and a sub bass dream from the halls of the past to the lights of the scene.

We are lightning in a classical machine. Let the kick drum march like a steel brigade.

As the lead line cuts through the barricade. If the world burns out in distortion

and flame. The last thing they'll hear is my name. . In the silence between