Searching for His Goth Queen

Under the sun, with a stop sign in hand. Sweat on his brow,

marking his land. Reptiles that nod, dogs that obey. The world spins loud,

but he clears the way. He's searching, he's searching, his Goth queen

unseen. The shadow to his sunlight, the edge to his sheen.

Forever ain't a word, it's a vow in his eyes, where loyalty burns,

and the lonely survive. Hard hat, steel boots, he don't play

pretend. His heart's a fortress, but he's craving an end.

To nights with the moon, talking to dogs, sharing his dreams with the mist