"Heh heh, look at me. I'm a skeleton!" [Verse 1] How now we dance after the fall of the Lich? Wakened by spell of a nameless witch? How now we fight when machine hordes dig And butcher and hack metal truffling pigs. Ah haha hahahahahaahaaaaa!! [Verse 2] And now we see him, on ridge to the West, A winged king with denim vest. His bone hands hold up a blade from our dreams— Fuchsia sword that flames and sings in screams! AHHHHHHH!!! [CHORUS] BONE KING! BONE KING! HYENA BLADE! Lead our horde with the fire she made! SPINE WING! SPINE WING! LORD OF BONE! Save our dead from the metal drones! RUN, RUN, RATTLE THE PIT! He's coming, he's cackling, he never quits! RISE, RISE, PIERCE THE SKY! The blade soars up for the battle high! [Verse 3] I see his skull face with a patched-up eye, A dusty hat for the final ride. He grins with teeth that never speak— He mounts the clouds on bone wings sleek. Ahahahahahahaahaahaaaaa! [Verse 4] He flies beside a little owl, We know that beak with drunken scowl— But if he comes, be they our foes? That be not true, I somehow know... YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA! [Bridge] We serve the Free One, nameless bones— For it be he waked us from catacombs. He gleams her grin, hyena face— He's the soul that resumes her chase. [CHORUS] BONE KING! BONE KING! VENGEANCE GIFT! We turn our song to heal a rift! SPINE WING! SPINE WING! HYENA’S LICH! We dance and cheer and beg to hitch! BURN, BURN, Occult FLAMES! The black claymore be NOT our bane! FLY, FLY, CLEAVE THE CLOUDS! That blade will rip the dead Earth's shroud! [Verse 5] I scorch his face in my sockets' sight, And yearn to touch him when the war drums die. I clutch my ribs as I swoon in crust... And now I dream in denim and lust. [Pre-Chorus] He'll be back soon... 'Till then we'll soothe... Caress our skulls and lick them smooth... He rides the sky on wings of bone... To plant his blade in the tyrant throne! [CHORUS] BONE KING! BONE KING! VENGEANCE GIFT! We turn our song to heal a rift! SPINE WING! SPINE WING! HYENA’S LICH! We dance and cheer and beg to hitch! BURN, BURN, Occult FLAMES! The black claymore be NOT our bane! FLY, FLY, CLEAVE THE CLOUDS! That blade will rip the dead Earth's shroud! AY-yay-yay-yaaaaaaaa! [Outro] He doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t shirk. He cackles with a bony smirk. And when he comes, we’ll know our fate: To grind us or To free us... Checkmate... "Wow-wee! Ain't that something else!"
