Working man with a candle burning through the dust and steam,
He lived his life in the earths own gutter with a broken dream
The kings own son,
He wont sleep until his work is done
From the ash and smoke
That preacher woke
Stained glass scars of a distant memory on a graveyard shift,
Wrapped old bones and a coal face covered with a clenched out fist
The kings own son,
He wont stop until his work is done
From the ash and smoke
That preacher woke
Hear him hammer home..
All dressed up in robes almighty with a rose and crown
On a stormy night you can hear him shouting form the underground
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